


An Echo of Hoof Beats

by ladyarcherfan3



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Horses, Missing Scene, Original Character(s), far too much focus on equines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-04
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 13:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5541872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyarcherfan3/pseuds/ladyarcherfan3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silent in the legend, Hawk and Fox were two horses recognized only by the roles they played – lord and outlaw’s mounts, the horses of guards, and a gift for a lady. They left their mark on the legend with an echo of hoof beats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Riches to Rags

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure what triggered it, but one day I realized that Marian’s gift horse was actually the same horse that Robin rides. (I spent several hours capping and rewatching episodes to make sure it was the same horse.) I also noticed that the flashy bay that Much rides is usually with the darker bay, and Marian also rides the flashy bay in S2. Now, obviously there’s the simple explanation of: “There are only so many horses on set,” but I just thought it was a bit ironic and amusing. So the muse snatched up the idea, and this is what happened. It’s a bit of an equine indulgence of missing scenes revolving around or involving the horses. I can't explain everytime the horses show up on screen, as there are times when the outlaws have them in one scene and the guards have them in the next. This is more of a chance to write missing scenes. Robin, Marian and the gang appear the most, with Guy and others showing up time to time. I hope you enjoy.

 

**Part 1 – Riches to Rags (“Will You Tolerate This?”)**

 

Robin of Locksely frowned as Guy of Gisbourne strode out of the manor house and shouted for his guards. He could not hear what Gisbourne snarled at them, but he assumed he was confirming that the control of Locksley had passed back to its rightful lord. After a minute, the guards tromped off to their barracks and Guy stormed towards the stable. Robin turned back to see Thornton standing a bit nervously near the center of the room, still holding the Saracen bow in his hand.

“I meant what I said about helping him pack,” Robin said with a smirk, and took back the bow. “I’d prefer if he and his lot didn’t leave with anything that isn’t theirs. You would have a better idea of what should stay and go, considering . . .” Robin trailed off, and Thornton gave a small smile before nodding.

“Of course, Master Robin.” He marched off through the house, crisply sending out orders left and right.

Leaving the control of the manor house in the capable hands of Thornton for the time being, Robin strode outside once again. He was home, but it was not the same home he had left behind him five years ago. It seemed it had changed nearly as much as he had in that torturous span of years. A sudden commotion from the stables brought past and present crashing together and he hurried towards it, muscles tensing as he approached the possible threat.

“No, you cannot take them! They are part of Lord Robert’s handpicked line! They were here before you!”

“Listen, stable master,” growled the other man, “I am taking them. You have no right to stop me.”

“He may not, but I do,” Robin said coolly as he entered the stable. “Ian, what’s happening here?”

Ian, the stable master, was standing between two bay stallions, clutching their lead shanks and keeping them as far away as possible from the glowering figure of Gisbourne. He answered, “Sir Guy was attempting to take Hawk and Fox for his guards, but they belong here.”

“Is that so?” Robin let his eyes flick towards Gisbourne, challenging the man.

Gisbourne’s scowl deepened. “I need those two horses for my men; we will be short mounts otherwise.”

“Didn’t you bring enough horses for your men so that you don’t have to attempt to steal mine?”

Ian, emboldened by Robin’s presence, spoke up. “He came with a seal brown stallion, and grey, chestnut, bay and seal brown geldings.”

“I now have more men than I have horses, I require those stallions -” Gisbourne began, but Robin interrupted him.

“I’m sure your men can survive the walk to Nottingham; I can’t help that your soldiers apparently can multiply, but you can’t figure out how to buy more horses for them.”

There was a moment of silence as the two men silently battled with icy glares; two alpha males struggling for the same territory, one having might and the other having right. Right won. Gisbourne sniffed and turned away; he grabbed the reins of his seal brown stallion and stalked out of the stables.

Behind Robin, Ian gave a relived sigh as he put the stallions back into their box stalls. “Thank God, I didn’t want to have to give up these boys, and that Orion of his is an ill tempered horse; he’s never been able to get along with the rest of the Locksley herd. I’m glad to see them both gone.” He paused and then apologized, “Beg pardon, Master Robin, for speaking out of order.”

Robin waved it away. “No matter.” He turned to the horses, “You said these were from the line my father started? I don’t recall them.”

“They were both young colts when you left; horses do a lot of growing up and changing in five years.”

Robin frowned slightly as he stroked the dark bay’s nose. “So do people,” he muttered under his breath. Turning back to Ian he asked, “Which one’s this?”

“Hawk,” the stable master said proudly. “He’s the last colt sired by your father’s old destier, Falcon. He’s been bred and trained to be a lord’s horse, but he’s gentle enough for a lady. I trained him myself.”

“Did you?” Robin smiled. The horse was indeed a lordly looking creature. His dark bay color was accented only with white markings on his hind pasterns, and small flick of white between his nostrils. His neck was well crested, his head a bit plain but noble, and his body athletic if not perfect. Robin couldn’t help but smile as Ian listed out the same observations, delving into detail and discussing more of the horse’s personality and abilities.

“Fox isn’t quite on the same level as Hawk. He’s got less muscle than Hawk, but is a bit faster; he’s quieter and would also be a wonderful lady’s mount, mainly because he’s flashier and lighter boned.”

“So he isn’t the sly trickster like his name implies?”

“No, Hawk is more of the imp in the herd; Fox just looks like a fox – lithe, red coated with black and white points.”

Robin felt himself relax as the conversation floated towards the horse’s blood lines, discussing sires and dams, abilities and character quirks. It was something so mundane after the experience of war, the ache of the long journey back home, and the pain of finding that home so changed. The conversation reminded him of his childhood riding lessons with Ian’s father, Philip. It almost allowed him to pretend that things were normal in Locksley and Nottinghamshire.

“Would you like to take Hawk to try his paces, Master Robin?” Ian asked him, dragging him back to reality.

“I would. In fact, I would like to go to Knighton to visit Lord Edward. Saddle Hawk for me, and whoever you think would fit for Much. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Of course Master.”

***

It was well on the way to dawn when Robin and Much finally mounted their horses outside of Knighton and turned towards Locksley. It had been an entirely frustrating depressing day in Robin’s mind. He had returned home, discovered the discord of the law, was being forced to hang four of his own peasants, and he feared that he had no allies. Even Marian had been exceedingly cold with him, and argued for the “long game”, which surprised him. About the best thing he had found that day was that Locksley’s stables had not diminished in the years he had been in the Holy Land. He could find no flaws in the horses that Ian had provided him and Much.

Robin restrained any outward sign of his dissatisfaction until they were well away from Knighton. Then he spurred Hawk forward into a full gallop, and they flew down the road. The stallion eagerly stretched his legs, and snorted in excitement for a potential race as Much urged Fox to catch up. Despite the numerous trips between Locksley, Knighton and Nottingham, and the fact that they had just been introduced to new riders, Hawk and Fox responded to every cue with very little hesitation and showed no sign of fatigue. With a snort, Hawk tossed his head up and fought the bit as Fox drew even with them.

“I must say, Master,” Much called over the wind of their speed, “that galloping horses along a pitch black road at night is hardly a good idea.”

Robin laughed, the stress of the day disappearing in the rush of excitement brought about by a hint of danger. “These horses see better in the dark than we do, Much! And they know the way home. All we have to do is go along with the ride!”

With another laugh, Robin gave Hawk his head, and the stallion leapt forward. Much loosed a sigh of frustration and fear as he allowed Fox to take off. It would almost be more dangerous to hold the stallion back than to let him sort out the road on his own. The night rushed by in an incomprehensible roar, and the stallions easily carried their riders home, never faltering on the road and never slowing until they reached the stable door.

Once the roar of night wind had faded from his ears and his heart beat slowed once again, Robin turned his mind to planning. He would not allow the four men to be hanged, and there had to be some way he could play Edward’s “long game” at the same time.

***

The ruckus and turmoil he had created faded behind him as Robin raced away from Nottingham’s main square and towards the gates where he had left Hawk and Fox. He knew instinctively that Much was following him, but was reassured to hear his friend’s panicked muttering as he ran. There was the sound of two other men racing away from death as well. He wasn’t surprised that they had followed him, as there hadn’t been many other options, though the one they chose could easily be a scenic route back to the noose. Yet he had no real time to think of such things. He had to focus on the present, and getting himself and the other men out of the city.

Hawk started as he whipped around the stallion and quickly untied him. The stallion tensed but did not dance around; he was poised for action. Robin swung up into the saddle, hearing Much say something in warning.

_“Archers! Archers, Master, what do we do?”_

He turned Hawk towards the gate to see the road blocked by a low barricade and a row of archers with readied bows. _“Let’s give them something to shoot at,”_ he replied. He looked at the three other men, who seemed rather hesitant to get on the horses. _“Go, go, go!”_ he ordered, and in a flurry of motion Much hauled himself behind Hawk’s saddle as Will and Allan jumped on Fox.

Robin slammed his heels into Hawk’s flanks, and the stallion seemed as willing to he was to defy danger and death to the hilt. Even burdened with the weight of two men, Hawk shot out of the city gate and sped towards the archers with Fox a few scant strides behind. The arrows whistled through the air around their heads, but the archers’ aim was wide. Robin shouted wordlessly as the horses neared the barrier; he heard Much and Allan shout in terror, but Will was silently focused on steering his horse and not being shot. The archers scattered in fear and surprise, and the horses cleared the jump.

As they galloped away from the city, Robin’s grin turned into a laugh. The horses were still charging along, but as once they out of bow range, Robin reined Hawk down to a canter.

“How . . . can . . . you . . . laugh . . . at a time . . . like this?” Much demanded between breaths. “Wait, never mind, I don’t really want to know,” he finished as Robin simply lowered his laughter to a chuckle and halted Hawk.

“Where do we go now?” Will Scarlett asked as he stopped Fox. “We can hardly go home after this.”

Robin nodded in agreement and grew serious. “Sherwood Forest. We’ll stay there until we can think of a plan.”

“I’m not bein’ funny, but ain’t Sherwood teeming with outlaws?” Allan asked.

“What are we?” Robin demanded. “You were sentenced to hang and escaped, and I defied the Sheriff by granting you that escape.”

“And what does that make me? I was being dangled off a wall. . . ” Much wondered.

“Come off it, mate,” Allan scoffed. “You’re an accomplice, you ‘elped ‘im!”

Much started to retort, but Robin interrupted him. “Much. We’re all in this together for the moment. We need to get into Sherwood before the Sheriff’s men get organized and come after us.” He turned and trotted Hawk towards the edge of the forest. “Sherwood may or may not be teeming with outlaws, but I also know that it’s not a place castle guards operate well in.”

“What do you mean by that?” Will wondered.

Robin smirked. “Marian and I outwitted any number of her father’s guards under Sherwood’s canopy when we were children. And judging by their performance today, Vaizey’s guards are hardly better.”

The men rode as far as they could into Sherwood before night fell. Robin led them as well as he could, but Sherwood had also changed since he had last been there; but he never hesitated, and quickly reacquainted himself with the forest. Some things hadn’t varied over the years, and Robin used the streams and rocky outcrops that appeared through the forest to his advantage; they hid tracks and washed away scent which would prevent men or hounds from easily following them.

While he knew they could have gone into the denser parts of the forest if they abandoned the horses, Robin was hesitant to get rid of them. They would afford speed if they would need it, and he had a feeling Will and Allan wouldn’t have been able to make very good time without a horse. The aftermath of the stress from their near hanging and escape was beginning to show already if the slump of Will’s shoulders and the occasional involuntary nod of Allan’s head was anything to go by.

Robin finally called for a halt when the sunlight began to disappear and the forest faded into twilight. They made camp in a ravine that afforded shelter from the wind, ample firewood and some fodder for the horses. That was another detail he would have to deal with soon; while a man could find enough food in the forest to live on, horses were decidedly more difficult to feed. They would be fine for the night, however, and perhaps better than the men; they had only Robin’s bow to hunt with, and though he had managed to kick up a rabbit and shoot it, it wouldn’t last long between four men. It was still early enough in the year that there weren’t many edible plants about.

Robin gave Hawk a friendly scratch on the neck and rubbed the broad star on Fox’s forehead before he loosened their girths. “We’ll sort something out, never worry,” he muttered, the words for his own reassurance and the tone to ease the horses.

Picking through their piles of fodder, the stallions didn’t seem very concerned. That made Robin’s life a bit easier; Much was enough of a worrier, so at least the horses seemed adaptable enough. They had taken the same dive in status as he had – from lords to outlaws, from comfort to survival. With a final pat for both of them, Robin wandered back to the fire and his fellow outlaws.

Much was doing his best to roast the rabbit to something edible, Allan was wrapped in his cloak and apparently fully relaxed; Will focused on the fire and was dubiously eyeing the small pile of fuel they had gathered. Robin settled down between Much and Allan, allowing himself to relax. There wasn’t much else to that night except rest and plan for the next day.

_Will said suddenly, “Just getting some kindling.” He stood and strode away into the forest._

_A few more silent moments passed before Much said, “Be honest with me, this does not bode well for my lodge, my Bonchurch.”_

_Robin glanced over at him and simply raised an eyebrow that said, “What do you think?”_

_“I knew it,” Much said with a heavy sigh._

_Allan smirked. “This is you lodge now, my friend. Sherwood Lodge.”_

_Much bristled and snapped, “I am not your friend-”_  
  
_“Shh, shh!” Robin hissed, sitting up. The horses had become restless, looking up to the ridges surrounding the small campsite, their ears flicking back and forth. He stood up just as a voice from an unseen man bellowed._

_“Excuse me! This is our forest!”_

Four armed men appeared on the rock ledge above them. Bows were aimed down at them, and Robin was at a loss - he didn’t have a plan to get out of this situation.

TBC


	2. Out of the Woods

  
**Part 2 “Out of the Woods” (Set between “Sherriff got your Tongue” and “Who Shot the Sherriff”)**

 

Hawk and Fox tugged at their tethers impatiently, searching for more feed. The outlaws were still breakfasting themselves, though by the looks of things, they weren’t much more satisfied than the horses. Robin sat a little apart from the group, chewing his thumb thoughtfully. Several weeks had passed since they had taken to the forest, and while he, Allan, Will, and Much were all adapting to life as outlaws, Robin had to admit the horses were not. There simply was not enough grass or other equine friendly forages available in the deep parts of the forest, and the edges of the woodland were too exposed for the outlaws to linger for too long.

Robin sighed silently and admitted that along with the difficulty of maintaining the horses, the stallions had not come in useful again. Almost all movement and traveling was on foot, as men on foot could move more silently than those on horseback. Hawk and Fox no longer had a use, and were more of a liability than anything else. The thought that there was a lot of meat to be had from the horses flicked across his mind, but he quickly discarded it; he couldn’t stand the idea of eating horseflesh, though he had seen Roy eyeing the pair with a hungry, calculating look in his eye. Coming to a decision, he stood, the movement gaining him the attention of the other men.

“Allan and Will, help John and Roy with the hunting today; it will probably work better if you split up into teams. Much, come on.” He strode towards Hawk and began saddling him. “We’re bringing the horses to Philip’s place.”

There was a momentary silence as the other men looked at each other in mild shock and annoyance. The plans for hunting hadn’t been outlined, but they were assumed; it grated on the others’ nerves slightly. Roy in particular wasn’t keen yet to take orders from Robin on what the more jaded outlaw thought of as his home turf. Much stared in confusion before quickly gathering his weapons and leaping to his feet.

“Philip? You mean Philip the old stable master? Master, are you sure? I mean, why?”

Roy demanded, “Yeah, Lavender Boy, what’s going on here?”

Robin finished with Hawk’s saddle and moved on to Fox’s leaving Much to flounder in confusion. “We can’t feed them and they are doing us no favors here. And besides, these horses were bred by Philip and trained by his son Ian. I’m certain he’ll want them back.”

“But Master, you’re not thinking of riding to Locksley? That’s only mildly less suicidal than riding to Nottingham!”

Robin smirked and tossed Much Fox’s reins. “Ian told me his father lives between Locksley and Knighton, near the edge of Sherwood itself. I’m fairly certain that we’ll be safe if we use a bit of caution in the open areas.”

Robin swung onto Hawk and trotted away, as Much hurried to follow. As he scrambled up into the saddle he muttered, “Caution! Caution! I’m beginning to think he doesn’t know the meaning of the word!”

The rest of the outlaws watched the pair ride off with various expressions of resignation and annoyance on their faces. Roy snorted and stalked off, muttering something about Lavender Boy still thinking he was a noble. John kicked some dirt on the remains of the fire and the men headed out into the forest to hunt for dinner.

A few hours easy riding brought Robin and Much to the stables and fields tended by the man still known as Philip the Stable Master. Philip had been stable master for Robin’s father and for Robin as well, until a few years prior to Robin’s departure for the Holy Lands. As a free man with a life’s savings, Philip had managed to purchase enough land to establish his own stable where he trained and bred horses to his standards; surrounding lords came to him for stallions and palfreys to ride on parade as well as a few plow horses needed by their peasants.

Expansive paddocks surrounded a magnificent stable able to house a sizeable herd. A small but well maintained cottage stood near the stables. A few stable hands went about their tasks, greeted and instructed by a grey haired man with the reins of a young horse in his hand. With a few more words to his workers, the man made his way over to a training arena at the far end of the stable yards. Sitting on the edge of the forest, Robin gave a satisfied nod and dismounted, handing his reins to Much.

“I’m going to go talk to Philip. You stay here with the horses.”

Robin eased his way around the perimeter of the farm and crept out of the shelter of the trees and darted behind a small out building. None of the workers had noticed him yet, and he wanted to keep it that way for now. Though he felt that the people here would support him, there was no point in risking it at this point; besides, he wanted to make sure Philip didn’t spot him too soon. It was usually more fun that way. He scanned the relatively long distance between himself and the training ring; there were no more buildings, but a lone tree stood near the rail fence and would provide a bit of cover from the rest of the stable yard.

With a smile forming on his lips, Robin sauntered out from the building and crossed to the training ring, settling in the shade of the tree. Philip was riding on the far side, steadily bringing the young horse in a circuit around the ring. Still unnoticed, Robin leaned against the tree casually, watching. Philip was indeed a horse master, patient and subtle when he needed to be, swift and firm at other times; he could instantly read horses and people and could match horse to rider with little thought.

The young horse trotted up the rail towards Robin, speeding along in the manner of young horses who can’t quite find their balance with a rider. Without thinking, Robin stepped away from the tree and leaned against the rail. The horse saw the movement, gave a high pitched snort and managed to bolt sideways and forward at almost the same time. Philip barely moved in his seat, and put the colt into a small circle to gently force a halt; once the horse had stopped, he immediately brought him back to the rail to confront the frightening object. The old man’s face froze in surprise as he recognized the man leaning on the fence.

“Young Robin?” Philip asked in shock. The horse, determining that Robin wasn’t all that frightening, wandered forward to get some attention.

Robin let the colt nuzzle his hand and then rubbed the small star on his forehead. “Hello Master Philip,” he said with a slight smile. “I’m sorry I spooked him, I wasn’t thinking.”

Philip snorted. “Breaks them faster. But what are you doing here? You could very well get yourself caught and hung.”

“I’m here to ask a favor. Hawk and Fox got outlawed with me, but they can’t live in the forest. I’d rather leave them with you than let them go back to Locksley or simply turn them loose; Gisbourne was determined to have them when he left Locksley, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction now.”

Philip’s iron grey brows furrowed. “Hawk – the dark bay with the star and snip, two half pasterns on the hinds? By Falcon and out of Lily? Fox is the bright bay with a star, interrupted strip and snip, two stockings on the hinds; by Oak King and out of Epona. Of course I want them here! I bred them, and Ian trained them. I only have one other Falcon colt and no Epona foals; they were some of the best I’ve ever worked with.”

Robin dropped his head to hide a smirk. “Trust you, Philip, to think only in the terms of blood lines and trainers. I’m glad you can take them.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I can’t see good horses going to waste.” Philip’s abrupt manner softened and he said, “And I’m a free man, I’m not as afraid as some to support the cause I feel is right, even if in a very small way.”

“Nevertheless, I don’t want you implicated for helping an outlaw. If I turn them loose at the edge of the forest and encourage them to run towards the paddocks, you can collect them and say that you found them wandering around. That way, you’re not connected with me, and the horses can be yours.”

Philip nodded and turned his horse away from the rail, trotting down the center of the arena. “I appreciate it. Now go, before you get caught.”

Robin slipped back into the forest like a green and brown shadow and found Much pacing nervously. The horses were tied, their ears pricked in the direction of the paddocks. Robin moved to untie the horses and then paused.

“Here, Much, help me muss these two up a bit.”

“What?”

“They have to look like they’ve been in the forest for awhile, and not groomed.”

Much shrugged but didn’t comment. Robin scuffed up some dirt and rubbed it into the saddles and the horses’ flanks. Much tangled the manes and tails, and loosened the saddle girths. Robin finally untied the pair and tossed the reins over their heads before slapping them on the rumps and sending them galloping out of the forest.

With a gleeful squeal, Hawk barreled towards the paddocks, Fox following more sedately behind. The other horses heard them and quickly trotted to the fence to investigate. At the first paddock, Hawk eagerly arched his neck over the rails, snuffing noses and was apparently very interested in a few mares in the herd. Fox made some acquaintances, but soon became distracted by some grain that had been spilled near the fence. Hawk continued to prance down the paddocks, calling to the mares and challenging the other stallions.

After a few minutes, a stable hand noticed the ruckus and rushed over to investigate. His calls for Master Phillip drifted over the stable yard. From the saddle of his two year old, Philip looked up, gesturing for his men to catch the rogue stallions. Robin smirked and turned to Much.

“I think that’s our cue to leave. Come on, we have a long walk back to the campsite.”

“If we get back in time for dinner, I will be amazed. Actually, I will be more amazed if they have actually caught something for dinner, and if they did, if they know how to cook it.”

“Oh, Much.” Robin rolled his eyes. “We could have kept the horses and then we would have had enough for dinner for at least a few weeks. I think Roy was sizing them up today.”

“Master, surely not!” Much looked horrified. “Even I’m not that desperate yet!”

***

A few days after Hawk and Fox joined the herd at the Stable Master’s farm, two riders trotted in from the direction of Locksley. Philip was in the process of working liniment into the foreleg of a fifteen year old mare when he was alerted to the presence of the visitors. Following the stable hand out into the yard, he instantly recognized the riders – his son Ian, and the black clad Guy of Gisbourne.

“How may I help you?” Philip asked. He noticed that Ian looked rather uncomfortable and Gisbourne was annoyed.

Gisbourne dismounted with a dual creaking of leather – the saddle and his clothing. “I am in need of horses for my men. I was told you would have the best.”

Philip shrugged. “That’s what others have said of me, true, and if Ian told you, he’s biased towards his father. But I’ll show you what I have to offer.”

After only a few minutes of watching Gisbourne study the horses shown to him, Philip had to concede whatever else the man was, he knew horses. It was probably not surprising, as Gisbourne wore the spurs of a knight and the Stable Master had to admire him for his knowledge of horses; nevertheless it put back Philip’s mild hope that he would be able to sell serviceable but mid grade horses to the man. As he had said to Robin, his rebellion was evident in these minuscule ways.

Gisbourne stopped in front of the paddock that now housed Hawk and Fox. He studied them for a moment, gloved hands tightening around the fence rail. A frown darkened his face as he turned to look at Ian.

“Aren’t these the same two stallions you tried to keep me from taking at Locksley when Hood first came back?”

Ian licked his lips nervously, unsure where Gisbourne was going. “Yes, sir, I believe they are.”

“Hood must have turned them loose in the forest after he was outlawed,” Philip said easily; Gisbourne shifted his dark glare in his direction. “I found them about a week ago, trying to break into my mare paddock; they were dirty, skinny, and sadly, still saddled. They’ve had a lot of pampering since them.”

Gisbourne glanced back at the horses and then at the father and son. “I’ll take those two,” he said firmly, pointing back at Hawk and Fox.

“I wasn’t planning on selling them,” Philip began but Gisbourne cut him off.

“They belong to the Lord of Locksley, do they not?”

Philip’s eyebrows dropped into a frown as he considered every angle of that argument. “They were part of the late Lord Robert’s line, yes,”

“And so could be considered Locksley property, and as I am the current lord of Locksley . . .” Gisbourne declared, but Philip continued.

“But I did find them wandering in from the forest, and as Robin of Locksley is an outlaw and thus a dead man, they have no owner, and thus became my property when I found them on my land.”

Gisbourne’s scowl was deeply set in his face. “I came here to buy two horses. I want those two bay stallions. You will be well paid to offset your apparent loss.” He tossed a large purse of coins at Philip and ordered. “Bring the two of them; we’re going back to Locksley.”

Ian sent a sidelong glance at Philip who gave him a reassuring nod. Philip watched passively as Hawk and Fox were haltered and led away. He weighed the purse in his hand, frowning. The loss of the two stallions was annoying to say the least, but as they had been almost literal windfalls, the profit was sizeable. Some deep part of Philip hoped that he might be able to get the stallions back at some point, but that was wishing for too much. Then, because there was nothing left for him to say or do, the Stable Master went back to the arthritic mare he had been treating earlier.

TBC  



	3. Pride Goeth Before the Fall

  
  
**Part 3 – “Pride Goeth Before the Fall” (“Parenthood”)**  
  
It was a desire for venison and a feeling of boredom that prompted Roy to suggest the raid on the Locksley stables. Once back in the good graces of the villagers the outlaws had managed to restore their food caches around the forest; however, fresh meat was still rare. At the same time, the daily struggles of living in the forest no longer held the same edge of danger as causing havoc for the Sheriff or his henchman Gisbourne for Roy. As Much stirred a pot of what appeared to be porridge, muttering about the scarcity of rabbits lately, Roy spoke up.  
  
“Bet you’re missing those horses now. We could have eaten them.”  
  
Much looked up, startled. “What? Eat the horses? I would never, well, I mean I have, but I wouldn’t now -”  
  
“Oh come off it!” Roy exclaimed. “You can hunt with horses.” With the attention of the gang on him, he said, “We could steal some horses, and then go on a hunt. We’d be able to drive and keep up with the deer better.”  
  
Robin nodded slowly, considering. “Good idea. But why steal the horses? I’m sure Philip would lend us some.”  
  
“We’d be causing some trouble for Gisbourne at the same time,” Roy continued, a dangerous glint in his eye.  
  
The prospect suddenly appeared irresistible to Robin. He knew it would be safer to simply visit Philip, but he didn’t want the Stable Master connected with the outlaws more than needed. The thrill at the thought of a successful raid flashed across his face as a wide grin. “Especially if we scatter the horses across the shire when we’re done with them so Gisbourne has to work to get them back. So what’s your plan, Roy?”  
  
By this point, the other outlaws had gathered around, listening intently. Roy sat back smugly, tapping his mace on the palm of his hand. “I go into Locksley, get the guards’ attention, and have them chase me back into the forest. The rest of you ambush them, steal the horses, and we ride away.”  
  
“Right,” Robin said, his excitement plain as he stood and looked around at the others. “Let’s plan this ambush.”  
  
“Oh, I have a plan for that too,” Roy said. “The guards might follow me for a while, but we’ll have to grab their attention with something really interesting.”  
  
“And what’s that?” Much demanded; he fidgeted with the beginnings of nerves.  
  
Roy looked at Robin. “Lavender Boy.”  
  
***  
  
The plan had gone without a hitch, the guards falling into the ambush and the horses taken perfectly. Robin’s triumph only increased as he galloped away on Hawk; Much had managed to get Fox, and the rest of the horses proved to be the best that Gisbourne had in the stables. It had been a complete success in every way.  
  
_“Do we like it?”_ Roy crowed as the gang dismounted and began congratulating each other. _“I think we do! Seeing as it was my idea, I get to keep the nag, right?”  
  
“The nag?” _ Robin asked in disbelief. _“This is a destrier war horse of the finest pedigree! Of course, my friend, you deserve it!”  
_  
Caught up in the triumphant mood, Robin would probably have promised Roy and the rest of the gang half the shire if they asked at that moment. No thought was given to the practicality of keeping the horses, even though they had been forced to give up their previous mounts just a few weeks earlier. Such details could be dealt with later, after the high of success had worn off.  
  
Then everything had fallen apart. A baby was discovered literally a hoof’s width from death, and another trap had been sprung. The outlaws reeled in shock as Gisbourne and his guards galloped away with the unconscious Roy in tow.  
  
“Master, what are we going to do?” Though Much hardly counted Roy as a good friend, he knew the importance of loyalty it a unit such as the gang.  
  
“We have to get him back,” Will said firmly.  
  
Allan snorted. “Yeah, but ‘ow? They’ve got a lead on us, and we’re not goin’ to take ‘em by surprise now.”  
  
Robin shook his head slightly and handed the baby to Much. “I’m thinking,” he said.  
  
His eyes fell on the horses, and he hurried over to Hawk and quickly lifted all four hooves. The identifying mark was simply two small pieces of iron tacked onto the back of the shoe to form an X; they were only on the fore hooves as well. While the shoes were not loose enough to easily remove without the proper tools, the X’s looked like they could be. Robin dropped Hawk’s hoof and turned to his gang.  
  
“Will, do you have a chisel or something?”  
  
With an uncertain nod, Will produced the small tool from his pocket.  
  
Robin nodded and showed him the horseshoe. “Do you think you can take those off?”  
  
“Hold his hoof steady,” Will replied, and carefully tapped at the joints where the small bands met the shoe, using the back of his hatchet as a hammer. A few moments later, the X popped off with a rasping chime and fell to the forest floor. Will looked up at Robin and nodded with a hint of a satisfied smile.  
  
“Good. We need them taken off all the horses. Then we’re going back for John, and figure out a plan to rescue Roy.”  
  
By the time the identifying marks had been removed from every horseshoe, a quiet despair had settled over the gang. Even Robin’s usual mask of confidence had been stripped away, showing the pain from the loss of a comrade in arms. Up to this point, only he had been the one in the most danger from the choices he made; he always had some form of control and usually a plan up his sleeve as well. Now, one of his men was in the direct path of the Sheriff and Gisbourne’s wrath, all because of a foolhardy scheme that, while Robin had not planned, had supported.  
  
The outlaws mounted the horses, leading the extra horse for John with them as they headed back to the campsite. Robin felt another twinge of despair when he thought of telling John that Roy had been captured. Of the original “dead men” Robin and the others had fallen in with, only John and Roy had stayed to form the outlaw gang. Helped with a hefty haul from a wealthy merchant, Forrest had taken his wife away from Nottinghamshire. Hanton had gone with, saying he had to keep his friend out of trouble, and that he might try his hand at a living outside of the shire, where he wasn’t known as a dead man.  
  
Why John had stayed and allowed the younger man to quickly become leader occasionally baffled Robin. John had obviously been a fairly successful leader of his outlaws, and while he voiced his succinct opinion, he rarely stood in the way of Robin’s decisions. Roy was somewhat easier to fathom – the man was as loyal to John as a son to a father. Along with that, both had mentioned their families as reasons for not leaving the shire; Roy said it would have been too much for his mother to travel at her age, and John had said something similar of his wife and son. So Robin had not questioned further, and simply accepted their strength and loyalty as great assets in the gang.  
  
Robin shook his head slightly and tried to turn his thoughts to planning Roy’s rescue. Yet, a sense of failure weighed him down and he struggled. They reached the camp and dismounted silently. Upon seeing John, Robin tried to bolster some form of confidant assurance, but failed and simply shook his head in despair.  
  
_“They got Roy,”_ Allan said.  
  
_“They tracked us. The horses were marked,”_ Much explained as he walked past the big outlaw. _“It’s a baby,”_ he added as John stared at the bundle in his arms.  
  
Robin felt the weight of John’s gaze settle on him, adding to the burden he felt as leader of the gang. “I’m so sorry, John,” he said simply.  
  
_“We go to Nottingham.”_  
  
Robin nodded and took a deep breath. “Right,” he said slowly. “I have a plan.”  
  
The plan formed as he spoke. “Allan, I need you to do reconnaissance around the castle walls; we need to find a way to get over them. Once we get in, John, Will and I will get into the dungeon and get Roy out. Allan and Much, you’ll keep the guards off our backs.” He stood. “Right, let’s go. Allan, you ride ahead now. We’ll meet you on the border of Sherwood opposite the town gates.”  
  
Allan nodded, and cantered away on the bright chestnut. The rest of the gang silently re-armed themselves, all attempting to bolster their hope. Robin grabbed a new quiver of arrows, swung up on Hawk and took the baby back from Much. He had no real plan, but he was determined to get Roy out, and he trusted his determination and luck to carry him through – though there had been occasions where even those had let him down.  
  
***  
  
The guards pounded down the forest road after him, and Robin knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep ahead, not while carrying Seth in his arms. Rounding a deep corner, he slowed Hawk down, swung one leg over the horse’s neck and jumped down. Stumbling, he somehow managed to stay upright and slap the horse to encourage him to keep running. Then he dove for the cover of the underbrush, praying that Seth would not cry too loudly.  
  
Hawk didn’t need a lot of urging to keep moving; he had been spoiling for a race and with a toss of his head, he galloped off into the forest. The guards followed as best they could, but Hawk veered off the main road and ducked down a deer trail; instinct and smell drew him back towards his herd mates. Staying to the larger, better cleared road, the guards did not see the horse disappear, and they charged away, assuming the outlaw simply had outdistanced them.  
  
***  
_Earlier:_  
  
As Robin and Roy trotted off towards Knighton with the baby, Will frowned but patted the neck of the chestnut gelding who had broken his bridle. Spooking at something, the horse had pulled back sharply against the reins that tied him to the tree. The cheek piece of the bridle had given out, snapped several inches above the bit. Will fingered the strap thoughtfully; he should be able to fix it without too much bother.  
  
Allan sauntered over just then. “Wha’ did ‘e do?”  
  
“Broke his bridle,” Will said succinctly.  
  
“I’m not bein’ funny, but this will make it ‘ard to steer ‘im!” He reached out to tap the bit where it danged under the gelding’s chin.  
  
Will pulled a short length of rope from a saddle bag and fashioned a rudimentary halter. He slipped it over the gelding’s head and unbuckled the broken bridle. “Won’t take long to fix,” he muttered to no one in particular, his focus already narrowed to the task at hand.  
  
Taking a small strip of leather from the end of the reins for a patch, he punched holes into both the broken ends of the cheek piece and the patch. Placing the patch under the break, he lined up the original pieces flush against each other, and secured them with a length of sturdy cord woven through the punches. When finished, the bridle hardly looked broken, and was strengthened with the extra leather.  
  
Just as Will was finished with his repair work, Robin’s horse trotted into the clearing. The other horses looked up as he trotted by, and Fox nickered a soft greeting. The dark bay stallion tossed his head, acknowledging the other horses but continued to saunter around the clearing like a lord. With a startled exclamation as he was almost knocked over by the exuberant horse, Much grabbed the dangling reins and stopped him.  
  
“What are you doing here? Where is Robin?” he demanded of the horse.  
  
Obviously, no answer was given.  
  
“Oh, well done, Much,” Allan mocked. “Give ‘im a few minutes, an’ Robin’ll come strollin’ in, tryin’ to convince us ‘e fell off on purpose!”  
  
“But why would he be back here already? He and Roy couldn’t have possibly made it to Knighton and back by now!” Much retorted fearfully. “We should go find him!” He turned a look on the group that somehow combined pleading and demanding at the same time.  
  
John frowned. He had been struggling with a feeling that something was wrong ever since Roy had escaped from the castle, and the sudden appearance of Robin’s riderless horse did nothing to ease his nerves. Though he did not want to give into the other man’s panic, he had to agree with Much. They should go attempt to find out what was going on.  
  
“We go find them,” the senior outlaw declared finally.  
  
Much relaxed slightly, but still looked flustered as he skittered about, tightening the girth of his saddle, and tossing things into the saddle bags. Will stood and bridled the chestnut again, checking the fit before handing the reins over to Allan; the other outlaw had Will’s horse ready. Once they were all mounted up, John led the way out of the clearing and towards Knighton.  
  
“We’ll ask at the villages on the way to Knighton,” John didn’t turn around in the saddle to address the outlaws. It wasn’t out of arrogance, but simple nervousness; he wasn’t as confidant on horseback as the younger men. “The people might have seen something.”  
  
*  
  
The people of Clun were able to tell the outlaws that Robin had been there and been chased by guards and that food had been brought for them. After that, it was a bit of a guessing game to figure out where the errant outlaws had gone. The combination of hoof prints with the wagon tracks helped, and they managed to follow them down the narrow forest road. The outlaws trotted out of the forest to see the small farm site, simultaneously spotting Roy, his destrier, and the wagon that Marian had driven, but their leader was nowhere to be seen.  
  
_“Master! Master!”_ Much called as he swung down from his horse. The door of the cottage whipped open to reveal Robin, closely followed by a red haired woman. She hung back, surveying the group of outlaws that had invaded her farm yard with an air of confusion and slight fear.  
  
“Your horse returned without you. I convinced the rest of them to try to find you. What happened?” Much said in a rush, but Robin waved a hand, dismissing his worry.  
  
“We ran into a bit of trouble at Clun, nothing we couldn’t handle.” He winced slightly as his arm gave a twinge of pain and added, “And nothing Marian couldn’t stitch up.”  
  
Much’s eyes widened as he spotted Robin’s bloodied sleeve and Robin hurried to give an account of the events at Clun, skating over the more dire details. He finished and said, “Marian is here, I’m sure she’ll take the baby to Knighton.”  
  
As he said this, Roy twitched as if he wanted to interrupt, but Robin continued without noticing.  
  
“We should go check on Clun - the pestilence has cleared, but the people are still barricaded in. They have food, Marian saw to that, but we need open the gates for them.”  
  
The other outlaws nodded in agreement, though they were somewhat confused at the turn of events. Robin himself was starting to look a bit hesitant as he strode back into the cottage. The day was certainly not going as expected.  
  
The rest of the outlaws hung around outside, and struggled to be patient. After a few minutes the woman, Tessa, joined them; she started a conversation with Much who was, as usual, the most talkative. The soft spoken words drifting from the pair suggested that Tessa was attempting to solve the mystery of a young baby that did not belong to the couple caring for it. The rest of the outlaws squinted up at the sky, which was steadily clouding over as the wind picked up.  
  
Wandering over to the wagon, Allan picked up a small loaf of bread from the small basket that had not been left at Clun and sat down on the end of the cart. “I’m beginnin’ to wonder,” he mused with a full mouth, gesturing at the cottage where slightly raised voices could be heard, “if Marian is gonna agree to Robin’s plan.”  
  
Marian stormed out of the door to the wagon. Allan quickly vacated his seat, but snatched up the small basket next to him. Hardly noticing the outlaws, Marian sent the horse trotting down the road with a sharp click of her tongue and a flick of the lines.  
  
“Guess not,” Allan observed, prompting a bit of a smile from Will.  
  
A rather subdued Robin exited the cottage then, cradling the baby in his arms once again. Tessa hurried up to him.  
  
_“There’s a storm coming from the east. The forest is no place for a bairn. You stay here tonight.”  
_  
Robin nodded gratefully. _“Thank you.”_  
  
_“No, no, no, we can’t,”_ Roy declared.  
  
_“Why not?”_ Robin asked.  
  
Roy floundered for a moment and then said, _“We have to get the baby back to his mother!”  
_  
_“Do it tomorrow!”_ Allan cried.  
  
_“Exactly!”_ Tessa agreed. _“Now get inside, all of you. I want you gone before dawn.”  
_  
Robin shook his head slightly as she gestured towards the cottage door. “No, that’s fine – we’ll go to the barn; we’re imposing enough the way it is. But if you’d want to take him . . .” He glanced down at the baby who was fussing slightly. “I’m sure he deserves some proper attention, after everything he’s been through today.”  
  
“I for one wouldn’t be opposed to a decent supper after today’s events,” Much said, none to subtly looking towards the cottage and the fire inside with longing.  
  
Robin rolled his eyes slightly at Much, but then spotted the basket Allan had lifted from the wagon. “Looks like we’ve been provided for.” He called to the gang, “Come on, get the horses, and we’ll settle in for the night.”  
  
Tessa took the baby from Robin, and gestured the outlaws to the barn. Much gave one last look at the cottage and turned away. Gathering their horses, they set about stabling the animals and then found suitable niches and corners of the barn for themselves. The men were quiet, tired after the numerous misadventures of the day, but Roy remained the most sullen of the group, though Robin wasn’t far behind; he favored his left arm, and shadows chased each other through his eyes even as he smiled reassured the others.  
  
The bread and pies unknowingly provided by Marian were passed around, washed down with shares of ale from a small keg graciously given by Tessa. As the day quickly rushed towards evening, the storm finally broke. Safe and dry in the barn, the storm was far less terrifying and uncomfortable than it would have been in the forest. Much soon nodded off, and from his spot next to the wall John fought back several yawns.  
  
With a roar of wind and rattle of rain, the door of the barn swung open, revealing the shadowy figures of a man and horse, hunched against the fury of the storm. The outlaws sprang to their feet, reaching for weapons instinctively. The man in the doorway froze, as shocked as the outlaws, but his horse called a greeting the outlaws’ mounts.  
  
Tessa seemed to materialize out storm and gloom, a shawl over her bright colored hair. The man moved to push her back. “Get back into the house, there are outlaws in here!”  
  
“Hugh, it’s alright!” Tessa cried at the same time as Robin exclaimed, “No, no, it’s alright! I am Robin Hood, these are my men.”  
  
“Lady Marian trusted them,” Tessa added as Hugh looked at her incredulously.  
  
Robin winced inwardly. The last thing he needed was more people connecting Marian with the outlaws.  
  
Tessa finally turned to the gang. “This is my husband Hugh. I didn’t think he’d be back from Nottingham until tomorrow.”  
  
Hugh shook his head slightly in disbelief. Leading the cart horse into the barn, he said, “Many an unfaithful wife has used that excuse in the past, though I warrant not many were inviting a horde outlaws into the barn.” He gave the outlaws a smile and set about in the familiar task of caring for his horse.  
  
Robin smirked and shook his head, instinct telling him to trust the man; the rest of the outlaws relaxed and went back to their resting places. “So, what exactly do you do that calls for you to travel, Hugh?” Robin asked in a congenial manner.  
  
“I’m a cooper by trade, though I can do most types of carpentry to a lesser extent.”  
  
Will lifted his head in interest and moved to Robin’s side, excited at the presence of a fellow carpenter.  
  
Hugh continued, “A lot of the isolated farmsteads struggle to get barrels for various uses, so I provide.” Comfortable on his home turf and certain that the outlaws were no real threat, Hugh manner of speech grew more relaxed. “I go into Nottingham once and a while to bring new barrels to a few of the inns for their brewing – they prefer my workmanship to the coopers in the city itself. They say the beer tastes better from my barrels.” He finished with the horse and moved back to the door. “Now, I’m wet, cold, and hungry, and I hope my wife has managed to fix something for me in the midst of all this excitement.” Pausing before braving the storm once again, he added, “I’d prefer if you lot were gone before sun-up, just in case someone came around.”  
  
Robin smiled and nodded, Tessa’s earlier warning echoing in his head. “We’ll be gone, and no one will be the wiser. Thank you.”  
  
*  
  
_“We have two mothers to save before sunrise.”  
_  
Robin strode away from the shocked group, instinctively collecting his weapons as his eye scanned the barn, thoughts whirling. There was Hugh’s horse and cart, and an assortment of scrap wood piled in one corner.  
  
“Master, do you have a plan?”  
  
“Half a plan,” he replied. “We need a way to get into the castle.” With that he left the barn.  
  
The storm had blown itself out, and the land was glossy under the gilt-work of rain water and moonlight. Robin jogged across the yard and paused a moment before knocking on the cottage door. With his thoughts in order, he rapped his knuckles against the wood, wincing as he heard the baby start fussing again. The door swings open to reveal a bemused Hugh, holding a hatchet in one hand in expectation of trouble.  
  
“I’m sorry to have to ask more favors from you, but I need your help,” Robin said quickly.  
  
Apparently confused and not quite awake, Hugh simply gestured to Robin to continue.  
  
“My men and I need to get into the castle before sunrise. We won’t be able to sneak everyone in, but if I can get one or two men in, they will be able to open the gates for the rest of us.”  
  
“What . . . what can I do?”  
  
Robin nodded at the barn. “Come on.” As he stepped away from the door, he spotted Tessa hovering just inside. “Can we leave the baby with you for a few more hours? He obviously can’t come with us.”  
  
She nodded mutely.  
  
Inside once again, it was plain to see that Will’s mind had already formulated plans of its own. The young carpenter was examining the cart, laying lengths of scrap timber along the sides. When Robin and Hugh walked in, he bounded up to them, his youthful excitement tempered by both his natural stoicism and the seriousness of the situation.  
  
“Robin, I think I’ve found a way to get a few of us into the castle. I can put temporary sides and a cover onto the cart, and have one side removable so the person inside can get out. Then he can open the castle gates from the inside and let everyone else in.”  
  
“That’s brilliant!” Robin beamed. “But you’re going to have to work quickly; we have just over an hour to get this finished and then get to Nottingham.”  
  
“Here young man,” Hugh handed Will a hammer and a length of timber. “Get to work on the sides, and I’ll get a cover. We need to disguise it a bit, as well.”  
  
“Good,” Robin said. “Get it done. The rest of you - we need to work out a plan of what to do once we get into the castle to get both Mary and the kitchen girl out.”  
  
“Annie,” Roy said suddenly. “Her name is Annie.”  
  
“Right. Annie,” Robin squatted down and started tracing an outline of the castle in the dirt floor with the tip of his dagger. “Once we get through the gates . . .”  
  
The time passed swiftly for the carpenters, but crawled by for the rest of the gang. Eventually, Will and Hugh stepped back to display their handy work. The cart had been transformed into a box; with the cover cleverly supporting three half barrels to create the illusion of goods being transported.  
  
On inspecting the contraption, Allan noted sourly, “It looks like a coffin. Bit roomier, but still . . .”  
  
Much’s eyebrows almost disappeared under the brim of his cap. “Don’t tell me that you are talking from personal experience!”  
  
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Allan snapped.  
  
Robin waved his hand to cut off any further argument. “Enough. After those encouraging words of Allan’s,” he sent the trickster a sour look, “we still need to have a volunteer to ride inside.”  
  
“I’ll go,” Will said. “I made it.”  
  
Allan inspected the cart once again. “Not bein’ funny, but should only one man go in to open the gates? I mean, there should be back up.”  
  
“Can more than one of you fit in there?” Robin wondered.  
  
“It’d be tight,” Will said, “but it’d work.”  
  
“And you’d really only need to ride in it the last mile or so to the castle – as long as you’re in out of sight of the castle guards,” Hugh said.  
  
Robin looked at the rest of his gang. “Any other volunteers?”  
  
Allan fidgeted, but eventually spoke. “All right, I’ll go. There’s no way John’d fit in there, to begin with; Much’d never be quiet enough . . .”  
  
“I will have you know I can be quite quiet!” Much declared.  
  
“Stop it, both of you,” Robin said sharply. “Get the horses, and let’s go. We don’t have a lot of time.” He grabbed Hawk’s reins and led the way out into the rain soaked night.  
  
The gang fought a battle between time and their horses’ stamina. Robin did not want to push the horses, knowing they would most likely have to make a fast escape from the castle; yet, the need to be in the castle and out again before sunrise taunted him as he set the steady pace through the forest. The cart also slowed them down and forced a roundabout route by road instead of a nearly straight line cross country.  
  
They arrived at the boarders of the forest just in sight of the castle as the sky began to take on the faint grey hue of predawn. Will and Allan squeezed into the camouflaged cart, and with a soft, “Good luck lads,” Robin led the rest of the gang to the southern side of the castle. The height of the wall there meant it was often the least guarded section; they would not be spotted, and the horses could easily be tied there for their escape.  
  
***  
  
Roy’s dying screams faded behind them as they raced out of the gates and to the horses on instinct alone. John supported Mary who was still sobbing; she managed to calm herself enough to be helped up onto the big grey horse, with John awkwardly sitting behind her. Allan swung up on his feisty chestnut and hauled Annie up behind him. The serving girl appeared to be in shock over everything that had taken place. Robin swung up on Hawk and spun to inspect his gang as they galloped away – their faces all reflected varying degrees of shock, disbelief and grief.  
  
Once in the forest, they slowed, and Robin maneuvered to ride next to Allan and Annie. He said gently to the woman, “Annie? We’re going to get your baby, but you’ll have to stay in the forest until we can find somewhere for you to go. It’s too dangerous for you to go back to Nottingham.”  
  
The woman blinked a few times and then asked in a rush, “Where is Seth?”  
  
“He’s with a friend, perfectly safe, don’t worry.”  
  
Allan snorted, “Safer then ‘e was with Robin, that’s for sure. ‘Little bow ‘n’ quiver,’ ” he muttered.  
  
Annie looked at Robin in shock, but the outlaw leader simply growled, “Allan!” in warning.  
  
He nudged Hawk into a trot to catch up with John and Mary. Roy’s mother would also have to stay in the forest for a while, at least until things cooled down.  
  
“What did you mean by that?” Annie asked Allan.  
  
The man shrugged. “Nothin’.” His humor was sapped, the overwhelming pall of sorrow that hung over the group weighted him down. Annie sighed and said nothing more.  
  
Upon reaching the cooper’s cottage again, the gang found that Hugh had made it back home as well. He had simply gone in one gate of the city and left by another before the ruckus had started. Robin thanked the couple again, reunited mother and child, the outlaws then headed deeper into the forest. Once they felt safe, they said their solemn goodbyes to Roy. Eventually, they made camp and set about preparing a sparse supper and attempting to make the women as comfortable as possible.  
  
While everyone else moved sluggishly and was reluctant to speak, Robin was twitchy and irritable. He paced from the horses to the fire and back again several times before sitting on a rock. His foot tapped the ground in an uneven rhythm as he mulled over various plans and force himself not to think too much. Finally, he stood and went over to Will.  
  
“I need you to ride to Knighton and talk to Marian for me.”  
  
The young carpenter looked up in surprise, but simply nodded.  
  
Robin continued, “I’m going to take the horses and scatter them around the countryside like we originally planned, but we need to find a place for Annie and Mary to go. Ask Marian if she knows anyone who would take in a few servants and a baby. Have her arrange passage as soon as possible.”  
  
Just then Mary came up behind him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I don’t need to find a new home, young man. I was fine before, and I’ll be fine now. I’m certain that the Sheriff won’t bother with an old woman, now that my Royston is dead.” She fought back tears, and Robin squeezed her hand in reassurance.  
  
“If that’s the way you feel, I won’t argue,” he said. He turned to see that Annie had joined them, and said, “But I think it best to get you away from Nottingham, for yourself and for Seth. I’m not sure how long you’ll have to stay in the forest, but it shouldn’t be more than a few days.”  
  
He turned back to Will. “Marian’s window is on the back of the manor, next to the stables. Whistle, and she should answer. And leave your horse somewhere on the way back.”  
  
Will nodded and left on his task.  
  
Robin mounted Hawk and gathered the reins and lead lines of the other horses; it was a struggle to lead three horses and ride a fourth, but he managed it. He rode a winding route across a decent portion of the shire, leaving a horse behind at random intervals. Usually he slipped them into the paddocks and yards of horse traders or stable masters, where they would likely have to be purchased again by Gisbourne if he wanted them back. Even if the man simply took them back by force, at least he’d be lead on a merry and time consuming chase. He avoided Philip the Stable Master’s property; he didn’t want to have Gisbourne connect the horseman to him again.  
  
The sun was setting before Robin realized it. He had left Fox behind in a small paddock a few hours before and had simply let Hawk choose the path and speed, not thinking about a destination. In fact, Robin was hardly thinking at all. But with the loss of the day, he was forced to stop and figure out where he was. With a sigh, he realized he was at least a three hour ride from camp. It would be wiser to spend the night where he was and head back in the morning. They were in a small hollow; there was grass for the stallion to graze and enough trees surrounding them to provide a windbreak. Dismounting, he untacked Hawk and picketed him.  
  
Not bothering to make a fire or eat, Robin wrapped himself in his cloak, hood pulled over his head. He felt sick. The entire day had been spent running from any thoughts of Roy and the man’s untimely demise. He’d seen men cut down and butchered on sun and blood soaked battlefields in the Holy Land, but to see the harsh murder of one of his own men . . . He knew his home had been tainted by evil long before this, but Roy’s death only increased the stain on the land and the pain in his heart. Worse, he knew his own arrogance and pride was to blame for many of the mistakes that had led to Roy’s death.  
  
He had recklessly agreed to the plan to steal the horses, and had not thought out all the implications. When Roy had escaped, Robin had foolishly not even considered the Sheriff might have used the man’s family as leverage to attack Robin. In his arrogance, he thought he had sufficiently cowed the Sheriff from using such tactics. He should have known better after the incident with Joe Lacey and the needless deaths of the castle servants. And yet, despite everything, Roy had died declaring his loyalty to Robin and the king, sacrificing himself for the rest of them.  
  
Something nudged Robin’s back sharply, and he jumped in surprise, startled out of his thoughts. Hawk had grazed his way over to him, and had bumped him on the quest for more grass. With a sigh, Robin reached out and rubbed the stallion’s forehead.  
  
“Roy died a hero’s death, that’s all it comes down to.”  
  
Hawk gave a fluttering snort and took a few steps forward, eagerly ripping at the grass.  
  
“Now for you,” Robin mused out loud. “I’d love nothing more than to leave you with Philip, because I know he’d appreciate you, and give you far more attention than you deserve. But that won’t be happening. You’ll go to the first place I find tomorrow, and I’ll have a long walk back to the gang.”  
  
With a final pat on Hawk’s neck, he moved out of the radius of the picket line, and settled down at the base of a tree. Before long he had drifted off to sleep. The night was silent save for the normal forest sounds and the tearing rasp of Hawk grazing. Before long, the stallion also drifted to sleep, a dark bay silhouette in the moonlight, with one hind leg cocked and his thick tail swishing slowly at insects.  
  
*  
  
Robin arrived back at camp in the afternoon of the next day. The gang was still quiet, but that seemed to be more from a wish to not disturb Seth’s nap than out of any deep lingering sorrow over Roy’s death. Life as an outlaw in the forest did not allow for lengthy mourning. He noticed that John and Mary were missing; Much hurried to inform him that Mary had wished to go back home and John had escorted her. Will approached next.  
  
“Marian said she will be sending a driver and a wagon along the North road tomorrow morning to take Annie and Seth to Lady Glasson’s. And . . .” He seemed about to say something else but simply shrugged.  
  
Robin nodded, hardly noticing the other man’s hesitance. “Thank you, Will.” He turned to look at Annie. “Are you all right with the arrangement?”  
  
She smiled shyly. “It sounds like the only option I have, short of staying in the forest. And I don’t think I would like that; it’s no place to raise a baby. Sorry,” she added in fear that she might have offended Robin for some reason.  
  
“No, you’re right,” Robin responded with a smile of his own. “It’s not particularly comfortable out here. But I hope the lads have been making you as at home as we’re able.”  
  
“Yes, I can’t complain, they’ve all been very kind.” Seth began to fuss, and Annie hurried to collect him from the nest of blankets and cloaks he’d been sleeping in. Robin noted with a smirk that Allan, Will and Much had all reacted at the same time and had moved to comfort the baby.  
  
“Much, what do we have for food?”  
  
Nudging a basket with his toe, Much answered, “A few loaves of bread that are going stale, and a few scraps of rabbit.”  
  
“Right, I’m going hunting. Hopefully I’ll be back soon.”  
  
Hefting his bow, Robin left camp once again. He felt the need for solitude and the opportunity not to think again after seeing the empty spaces that would have been filled by Roy. It was a bit of a struggle to tamp down his emotions, but he always managed it, sooner or later.  
  
*  
  
In Locksely, Gisbourne and Ian mounted their horses – the only two riding horses that had not been stolen by the outlaws. They rode out to Philip’s stable, but obviously found none of the horses there. Gisbourne seethed. He had chosen all the horses in his stables himself – with the exception of Hawk and Fox – for their particular qualities and training that made them ideal mounts for his guards. Either he would have to start from scratch and find completely different animals or locate the missing ones.  
  
“Damn the outlaws and Robin Hood,” he muttered as he trotted away from the Stable Master’s land.  
  
  
TBC  
  


 


	4. Equine Interlude

 

**Part 4 “Equine Interlude”** (Set between "Turk Flu"  and "Tattoo? What Tattoo?")

 

Hawk, as a horse, had no concept of why he had been left outside the stable. Nor did her understand why the saddle girth had only been loosened but not completely removed. But there were quite a few new horses to meet in this place. With a snort and a toss of his head, Hawk made his way to the first corral, reaching out to sniff the nose of a big chestnut cart horse.

The squeals of challenge were followed by a man’s shout as a barn door flew open. Hawk paused a moment to look at the man who jogged across the barnyard. The stallion snorted.

Was it such a crime to be sociable?

***  
The battles between Sherwood and Nottingham continued, but the outlaws opted to remain without a cavalry. As it had been seen early on, keeping horses in the forest was not feasible, and stealing them had proven to be far too dangerous and deadly. The outlaws were able to evade and outmaneuver the mounted guards in the forest and villages almost every time, which made the horses’ impractically even more redundant.

Gisbourne was able to fill his stables again with only slight difficulty. The horses that had been released nearest to Locksley wandered home within a day. A few others were returned by villagers who after struggling between the fear of being found with the horses and the terror of facing Gisbourne with his stolen horses decided the lesser of two evils was to return the animals.

When only a few stalled remained empty – notably those that had housed Hawk and Fox – the task fell to Ian to find or replace them as before. Mounted on his own horse and with a purse of coins on his belt, Ian rode out to his father’s farm to inquire after the horses.

“It seemed the most logical place to start, considering where we found them last time,” Ian said simply. He sat on the top rail of the fence as Philip rode a five year old palfrey he was training for Loughbrough.

“If it was Robin’s doing – and I’m not claiming knowledge one direction or the other – he’s like fox. He won’t use the same cache twice after a close call.” Philip turned the grey mare and side passed her to the rail so he could speak to Ian face to face.

Ian rolled his eyes. “He certainly breaks into the same hen house more than once.”

“From what I’ve heard, he’s managed to outfox them yet.”

With a sigh, Ian hopped off the fence. “So the horses aren’t here?”

“None of the horses from the Locksley stable are here,” Philip replied. “And it’s probably a good thing as well. I wouldn’t sell them back to you if they were.”

“Well, then I have my work cut out for me then.”

Philip grunted and spun the palfrey back into motion in the ring.

***

A few days later, Ian had worked his way to the far side of the shire and found a horse dealer. In his corral was Fox. The stallion looked slightly worse for wear as he had surprisingly fallen to the bottom of the pecking order. The scrapes and bite marks across his bright hide allowed Ian to barter down the price, and he bought a second horse of middling quality to replace Hawk. Gisbourne wanted his guards to be remounted as soon as possible, either on his original horses or their replacements.

So Fox went back home to Locksley, while Hawk stayed at a larger horse dealer’s stable several villages down the road.

***  
“He’s certainly not a farm horse that wandered off,” the dealer observed unnecessarily to his son. Hawk grazed around the corral, but suddenly lifted his head and trotted towards a cart horse, neck arched and chest puffed out in a challenge.

“You’ll not be able to sell him as such either,” the youth said. “He’s too fine and probably doesn’t even know how to pull a cart.”

The dealer nodded. “Some noble must have lost him. Well. We’ll keep him until we find a buyer, like we always do. There’s a horse fair next week – we might be able to get a decent price there. He’ll be sold as trained to ride and drive.”

“But he’s not . . .”

The dealer winked. “Buyer beware.”

***

“If Gisbourne had been patient, he could have found some decent stock here,” Philip said drily as he and Ian rode up to the village square of Wadlow.

“He still wants me to look around, but the stables are full. Besides, you told me horses of quality rarely show up at these things.”

“It depends on the level of quality you’re looking for. If you need something sturdy and dependable and probably not very sharp looking, you’ll be in luck,” Philip said with a grin. Although he knew he bred and trained superior horses than he would see this day, he enjoyed inspecting horses of any sort.

There were a few surprised looks as the father and son rode up, due to the fact that their horses looked like they should belong to lords. Most of the dealers and even many of the buyers knew Philip, and they waved or called greeting across the cacophony of the fair.

As they wandered between bays and chestnuts, cobs and ponies, Philip inquired after Ian’s horse purchases.

“So you recovered Fox?”

Ian nodded. “A bit scuffed up but fine otherwise. He seems a bit lonely without Hawk – he’s on the bottom of the order, under some of the geldings even. Orion still has to be kept separately, he fights too much with the others.”

“Really?” Philip paused to sweep his hand along the cannon of a tall cob that had a scar under his knee. “That stallion seems rather docile when I see him.”

“He likes his master, or respects him at least.”

A stallion’s sharp whistle cut through the noise and the father and son instinctively turned toward it. By the time they reached the horse in question, he had settled, and was munching on a mouthful of hay. His ears were still pricked and flicking about, however.

“You just had to let everyone know you were still here, aye boy?” Philip asked absently. He moved around to the horse’s front and quickly recognized the dark bay with a small snip, like a flick of paint between his nostrils. A quick glance confirmed the white markings on his hind pasterns.

“Well, hullo Hawk.”

Ian laughed. “Now he can come back to Locksley!”

Philip snatched up Hawk’s lead rope. “Not this time. He’s coming home with me.”

“But . . .”

“How full is your purse?”

Ian glanced at the purse on his belt and groaned. He had only a few coins. Philip had far more, and had the skill of bartering to get the horse at the price he wanted.

“What are you planning to do with him, then?” Ian asked after Philip bought the stallion and was leading them to their horses.

“I’m surprised you have to ask! I’ve wanted his bloodlines back in my stock for a while now. And he has potential to be a very fine horse. He’s been trained for mounted combat at arms, but probably needs to be refined. He was a lord’s horse, so he knows how to be steady and calm as well. And Jeremy needs a new project horse – his Aster is being sold next week!”

***  
“So you bought one horse instead of the two you said you would?” Jeremy, one of Philip’s apprentices called across the paddock.

“And who are you to ask? Especially as you’ll be the one working with him.” Philip pulled off Hawk’s halter and latched the gate as the stallion trotted around the perimeter, inspecting his new territory.

Jeremy frowned as Philip joined him on the path back to the stables. “Surely he’s broke by now?”

“He is. But he needs refreshing and fine tuning. Work on some exercises that make him think.”

When Jeremy raised his eyebrows in a question, Philip continued. “You’ve been working with horses that don’t know what to do when you asked for something. Now you can work with one that knows what to do, but doesn’t want to.”

A few weeks later, Philip made his usual circuit around his farm. He stopped at paddocks to inspect the horses, offered a word of advice or praise to trainers and apprentices, and generally making sure that everything was working well on his property. He stopped at the main arena where several horse and rider pairs moved across the fine dirt. Jeremy was among them, cantering Hawk in small and precise circles. Philip waved them to the rail.

“A kimberwicke and flash noseband did wonders for him,” Jeremy declared as he stopped the stallion.

“Hmm. Sometimes schooling with something like that is all it takes. Did you try something simpler first?”

“Yes, master,” the apprentice said with only a hint of sarcasm.

“And what have you done with his mane?”

“You told me he was a lord’s palfrey, so I thought he should look the part.” Jeremy flipped a lock of Hawk’s now very long and thick mane back into place. “I braided it and conditioned it . . .” He paused and grinned, “with my wife’s hair treatment. I’m not sure what’s in it, but it works!”

Philip snorted with laughter. “He’s also going to be a breeding stallion, so I’m not sure he looks the part of that. Carry on.”

TBC 


	5. A Gift for A Lady

 

**Part 5 “A Gift for a Lady” (Set during “Peace? Off!”)**

 

“Marian, there is the carriage, why do you demand to ride separately?” Edward asked wearily as he looked at his daughter from the doorway. 

They were departing for Nottingham to attend the Council of Nobles, but Marian was feeling more restive than usual, and was determined to not sit in the carriage for the duration of the journey. 

Marian lifted her chin slightly as she replied. “It’s a lovely day out, and Owl needs to get out of the stable and breathe some fresh air.”

Edward shook his head slightly but gave in. “As I recall, you and he had quite a lot of exercise not that long ago when I was feeling unwell, what with all that riding between Nottingham, Bonchurch and here.” 

“You wouldn’t want him to lose that fitness, now would you? He was _your_ old destrier,” Marian said with a bit of a smile as they left the manor. 

“Very well, take Owl out. Just ride within sight of the carriage so if you have a mishap you won’t be without help.”

“Do not worry about me, Father. I think there are others in this world who a need to fear riding through Sherwood than we do.” 

Edward shook his head and frowned. “I wasn’t worried so much about outlaws. Enjoy your ride.” 

Marian smiled. “Thank you, Father.” She turned and headed towards the stable to collect Owl from the groom. She quickly mounted and turned onto the road away from the manor. “See you in Nottingham.”

Edward waited next to the carriage, watching Marian trot down the road on an old grey horse. He had a wistful, sad look on his face, as if recalling a memory. With a slight shake of his head, he finally stepped up into the carriage and settled in for the ride to Nottingham. 

Marian allowed Owl to work up to a slow canter as they entered the forest. The road twisted before her, dappled in sun and shade; the light splashed into her eyes only to be replaced by cool shadow. She smiled, relaxation slowly easing through her. The last few weeks had been difficult. Between the ever present worry for her father’s health, the uncomfortable and terrifying moments in her relationship with Guy, and the incidents with Lambert and the black powder, she was exhausted and ready for a respite of some sort. A nice ride, even one that would end at Nottingham and the Council, was just the thing. 

Owl was puffing and Marian eased him back down to a walk. He was an old horse, and while still in good condition, he could hardly make it to Nottingham without a break.

“I rather know how you feel,” Marian muttered to him, patting the white neck. “A break, a reward of some sort would be pleasant now. Not that this isn’t, mind.” The horse gave a fluttering snort that Marian took as an agreement.

There was a rattling noise behind them, and Marian looked back to see the carriage catching up with them. “What what do you say? Ready to pick up the pace?” 

Owl flicked an ear back at her, and she urged him on with a gentle tap of her heels and a sharp click of her tongue. 

 ***

_“Not jealous of a horse, are we?”_

The words grated in his head as he strode down the corridor of the castle. What bothered Gisborne the most was that it was very nearly true. He wasn’t jealous of the horse . . . exactly. He was frustrated in the aftermath of the disagreement between himself and Marian; she had been not been particularly cold, but she had retreated behind a shell of formality that wasn’t far removed from their pre-betrothal  relations. And he knew that she could not be bought or appeased by gifts; so many of the things he had given her were returned, ignored, or mocked. 

_“. . . jealous of a horse . . . buy her something . . . a horse . . .”_

Gisborne’s pace slowed and paused. He could buy her a horse, a fine saddle horse. Marian obviously had a passion for the animals, and he could afford it, especially now. He could prove to her that he was secure in his wealth, a rich lord, able to be a good provider and husband for her. That’s what he would do. With a slight nod to himself, he continued on his way. 

As soon as his business in Nottingham was concluded, he rode out to the farm of Philip the Stablemaster. While Gisborne still resented the man for his obstinacy in refusing to sell him back the two stallions, Gisborne knew Philip had some of the best horses in the shire. Only one of the best would do for Marian.

He rode up to the main stable, but no one greeted him. Undeterred, he dismounted and strode toward the faint sound of voices and hoof beats behind the buildings. Rounding the corner, Gisborne paused at the sight of the horse in the arena. A dark bay, with a long flowing mane and a noble bearing cantered easily though the drills its rider asked of it.

_This_ was the horse for Marian.

Gisborne was already at the fence with one hand resting on the top rail before Philip approached him.   
  
“How my I help you, milord?” Philip asked. While Gisborne was not high on his list of nobles to do business with, Gisborne was a noble nonetheless, and the Sheriff’s Master at Arms.  

Gisborne turned quickly, looking startled for a moment before schooling his features to something like arrogance with a hint of annoyance. “I wish to buy that horse,” he said simply but in a tone that warned against argument. 

Philip cringed inwardly. It felt very much like the last time he had dealt with Gisborne, and the same horse was in question! Knowing he had to speak and hoping to dissuade Gisborne from Hawk, he asked, “And what do you want to use the horse for, if I may ask?”

“It is a gift, a gift for a lady.”

“Surely, you’d want a gentler palfrey, a mare perhaps? A stallion such as him would be quite a handful for a lady.”

“This lady,” Gisborne said slowly, “is no ordinary lady. She is strong minded and a skilled horsewoman.” 

Philip offered up a few more arguments, but Gisborne could not be swayed. In the end, horse and gold traded places, and Gisborne set off to Locksley with Hawk in tow. Philip watched silently as they left, an ironic smile lifting one corner of his mouth. Hawk and Orion were already pinning ears and glaring at each other. Gisborne would have a long ride home if the two stallions decided to act on their mutual dislike.  

 ***

_“Humor me – put him through his paces.”_

Marian grinned and gave in. Gisborne’s gift giving had never been so extravagant, and she had to admit, so exciting. The trinkets had all been well intentioned but felt impersonal, as if they were the attempts of someone who didn’t know much about the receiver. The horse was simply beautiful . . . on several levels.

 The stallion swung out onto the road in an easy canter, and Marian’s smile only grew. If she accepted Gisborne gift – and a large part of her could hardly refuse the horse for purely selfish reasons – she would be mending the tears in their relationship. And while it was unlikely the King would be returning soon to hold her to her promise, a cold rational part of her mind warned that accepting this gift would only put her further under Gisborne’s hold. Yet the gift was a representation and a means to what Marian valued the most in her life – freedom. 

With that justification, she spurred the stallion into a gallop, racing their shadows across a field near Sherwood. A few of the peasants working in the field looked up at the sound of the pounding hooves, and lifted their hands in greeting. The horse flicked on ear in their direction as he saw the movement but did not slow; Marian barely even noticed them, swept up in the moment. For a while at least, she could forget where the horse came from and what it represented. With the roar of the wind in her ears and the thud of hooves on the ground Marian released her worries and laughed out loud. 

The stallion easily covered several miles, having settled down to a slower, steady pace after the first initial burst of speed. Marian slowed him to a walk, and quickly realized he needed a steady but light hand, and responded better to seat and leg to settle him down. As they went back down the road to Knighton, she continued to discover what cues the horse understood and how he reacted. There were moments where she could see and feel an attitude showing through in resistance or a head toss as he reacted to the signals she gave him. Nevertheless, he was almost a better horse than Owl – and the hesitation was mostly due to emotional attachment to the old grey stallion. 

“What should you be called, boy?” Marian wondered out loud. “Falcon? It would fit with Owl and sort of with Sparrow the cart horse. You’re certainly fast, as well. Yes, Falcon.” 

The stallion tossed his head, ears flicking, and Marian smirked. “Well, I can’t think of something more masculine at the moment, so you’ll learn to like it! Or I’ll discover a better fit.”   

Before long, the road brought them back to Knighton. Marian saw Gisborne was still there, leaning against the wall of her house. It was a bit of a shock to realize that he obviously wouldn’t have left before hearing her decision on the horse. As she stopped opposite of her door, he inquired after her ride.

“How did you like him?” 

She could not restrain a smile. “Lovely, I do adore him.” She hesitated and then held the reins out to him again. “But as I said before, I really cannot accept him.”

Gisborne allowed himself a half smile, a superior glint in his eye. “And as I said, my fortune is secure. I want to give him to you, and I can afford it. If you desire, think of him as an olive branch for the dissension between us.”

Marian smiled again, but it was slightly more strained than before. “Thank you, Guy.” 

Gisborne straightened suddenly and looked past her, suddenly uncomfortable. “Well, I must get back to Nottingham. I am glad you ‘adore’ your gift, Marian.” 

“Thank you,” she said again, and watched as he rode away. 

 ***

A few days had passed since the gang had seen Harold and Prince Malik off on their journey. While the ordinary rigors of life in the forest and the need to keep an eye on the Sheriff quickly took precedence in minds of the rest of the outlaws, Robin continued to be bothered by some of the events connected to the Saracen prince and rouge Crusader. He was more restless than usual, and his humor had taken a downturn after the initial euphoria of success. However, the problem lay closer to Sherwood than the Holy Land. Much, unsurprisingly, was the first to notice Robin’s irritability.

 “Honestly, Robin, I don’t know what’s come over you! Don’t tell me you’re bored already, with the Sheriff not causing any trouble in, oh, I don’t know, two days!”

 Robin rolled his eyes, noting that the rest of the gang was also looking at him askance. “It’s nothing, Much.”

“Well, it must be something; you don’t get in these moods for nothing. . .”

Robin managed to deflect the gang’s interest in his bad mood after a while, but didn’t explain anything. The truth of the matter was that he was embarrassed at himself – he was jealous of Guy’s latest gift to Marian. 

It was past midnight but well before dawn, and the gang was sound asleep, with the exception of Robin. Leaves and bracken cracked as he rolled over violently, his mind refusing to shut off and let him rest. Why on earth was he so upset about Gisborne giving Marian a gift? He knew the man had been doing so for a long time, and it hardly created much of a reaction. That was, other than the necessary taunting of Marian. Perhaps it was Marian’s own reaction to the gift that was bothering him – she actually seemed pleased with it. He could hardly blame her, knowing her love for horses and her need to escape with a ride now and again. Yet, how could she be so delighted with something given by _Gisborne_?

With a frustrated sigh, Robin sprang to his feet. Collecting his bow and quiver, he padded out of camp; he wasn’t sleeping, so he might as well do something, though exactly what hadn’t entered his mind yet. He just needed to move. It was without surprise, however, that his feet quickly covered the distance to Knighton Hall.       

There were no lights showing in the manor house at the early hour, but Robin knew that dawn was not far off, and soon the small contingent of servants Knighton held would be up and about. Marian would likely not be far behind them Robin knew; she was hardly one to waste a day if she had the slightest opportunity make some sort of difference in the world around her. With a slight smile tugging at his lips, Robin’s gaze left Marian’s window as he turned and entered the warm darkness of the stable. 

He heard the shifting of hooves in straw, the quiet huffs of surprised and curious snorts as he opened the door slightly. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness that was even deeper than the night blanketed world outside, but the horses needed no such time to recognize his presence. The inquisitive deductions of the horses could almost be felt as their attention was seized by his unexpected visit. Blinking as his eyes began to sort out shapes and shadows, Robin walked slowly down the center aisle.

There were five horses in the stalls, though there was room for more. He quickly recognized Owl, Sir Edward’s old grey stallion, his light coat showing bright in the darkness; the horse had been around for years, and it had been a favorite sport of Marian’s to “steal” Owl for several hours for a good gallop, even when he had been almost too much horse for her youthful strength to handle. Now he was far tamer, and was more of a pet than he had ever been, Robin guessed. There were also two brown carriage horses, as well as the old cart horse that was another one of Marian’s favorites that could have been retired, but that she still found work for from time to time. It was for the newest addition of the herd that Robin was most interested in, however. 

In the gloom, the stallion was simply another dark shadow, but Robin started to make out more details as he came to rest his arms on the edge of the stall door. The stallion hesitated for a moment to study him and then came forward, nostrils quivering with scent gathering breaths and half heard, demanding nickers. 

 “Steady, boy,” Robin muttered with a firm slap to the black muzzle as the stallion got a bit pushy, and made a grab for Robin’s sleeve. 

 The horse snorted and backed away, but a few moments later he was back, but more respectful. Robin lifted a hand and gently rubbed the broad bay forehead. The stallion leaned into the petting, loving the attention.   
  
“What have you got, old boy, that makes you so special, eh?” Robin mused aloud. “What have you got that I don’t that keeps Marian so entranced?” 

“For one, he doesn’t talk back to me.” 

Robin and the stallion both jumped in surprise as Marian entered the stable with a small lantern.  
  
She continued as she set down the lantern and picked up a brush, “And along with that, he’s far more polite than you’ll ever be.” 

Robin smirked. “Is that what you look for in a man? Politeness?” 

Marian opened the stall door, using it to push Robin to the side at the same time. “I never said that. I just said that’s what Falcon had that you don’t.” 

“Falcon? Keen on the bird theme, are we?” Marian ignored him and turned to run the brush briskly over the stallion’s flanks. Robin ignored the fact that he was being ignored and continued, “Granted, it was also his sire’s name, but Falcon is close to Hawk, in a way.”   
  
Marian looked up in surprise. “Hawk?”

“Mmm,” Robin hummed. “He used to belong to Locksley.”

“That perhaps makes sense, as Guy did give him to me.”

Robin forced down the bitter reaction he still had when Gisborne was mentioned in conjunction with Locksley. “He belonged to a particular Locksley.” 

The pieces finally fell into place for Marian. “He was yours?” She paused a moment and then nodded. “Of course, I remember him now. He’s not terribly distinctive, except for that snip.”

“So you know what that means?” Robin asked. “Gisborne gave you a gift that technically was mine, and that he has no right to possess in the first place, so . . .”

“Robin,” Marian said in a disapproving tone.

“All right, I won’t press that line of reasoning,” he conceded, putting his hands in the air for surrender.

Marian shook her head slightly and said, “Your reasoning was faulty, anyway. Father told me Gisborne bought Falcon – I mean, Hawk – from Philip the Stable Master. He was hardly your horse anymore.” 

Robin smiled at the tiny victory of having the horse receive his given name, and replied, “Well, I’d like you to remember this - this horse is a part of Locksley, and when you think of Locksley, I’d like you . . .” he trailed off for a moment, almost embarrassed. “I’d like you to think of me, and not Gisborne.”

Marian’s expression was unreadable in the dim light. But she said softly, “I always do.” She smiled again and went back to brushing Hawk. “And think of it this way – on this horse, I will be able to get out to Sherwood with information for you even faster than I did on Owl.”

“I appreciate that fact. Now, I have to get back to the forest before Much sends out a search party for me.”

“Didn’t you tell them you were coming here?”

Robin paused, cringing slightly. “No. But I’m sure John saw me leave.” 

Marian rolled her eyes.  “Go! The last thing we need is an overly worried Much. Or someone seeing you around here, for that matter.”

“Saddle up that horse and come see me soon!” Robin called as he left the stable.

He was gone before Marian could make good her reply, so she simply turned back to Hawk, a soft smile gracing her features.        
  
TBC

  



	6. The Outlaw and His Lady

**Part 6 - The Outlaw and His Lady**  (Set during "A Clue: No!")

  
  
" _You're like a pox on my skin – I keep scratching but you don't go away."_

The push was not entirely unexpected and fully deserved. Robin simply picked himself back up and didn't look at Much.

" _You go away."_

How much truth there had been behind those harsh words and how much had simply been the release of his pain and frustration was unknown even to Robin. But they had the desired effect of driving off one of the few people that would have tried to talk him out of the selfish plans that were forming in his head. The words he had snarled at Edward earlier that day rang through his head again. _"I am_ sick _of doing the right thing."_

Robin waited until nearly dusk before he made his way back to the camp to collect his things. The rest of the gang was gone, having left for Merton to support Edward and the other loyal nobles. He knew that their desire to see the King safe and back on his throne had carried them through long months of their exile in the hope that all would be righted with the return. Robin's sudden disagreement with that hope would not deter them long. Much fully believed it as well, and he could be fairly persuasive, if only by sheer mass of words.

Night crept through the forest, washing over the trees and the solitary outlaw as he stood amidst the silent camp site. He lingered unconsciously, some small desire for an argument against his plan holding him in place. Yet only the forest night and his tormented mind were present. There was nothing left to do but carry out his plan. With a small pack and his weapons in hand, Robin made his way back to the hill above Locksley to hold a night long vigil for his home, life and love that had been taken away from him.

In the morning, the flurry of activity in the village below him drove the pain of his losses further home, but they also gave him an idea. With the focus of the villagers, guards, and Gisborne focused around the church, he would be able to steal a horse. Nottinghamshire would be left behind all the quicker with a horse, and it would also be the last chance to be a thorn in Gisborne's side. Movement on the road caught his attention again. It was Gisborne's carriage making for the church, with a single passenger inside. It could only be one person.

Robin stood and slung his pack over his shoulder, more determined than ever to run away from his pain. Counting only on luck, he strode down the hill without seeking cover until he was nearly at the stables. There, he ducked into the few shadowed corners the bright morning gave him, and with only the creak of the door to give him away, entered the stable.

He let his eyes adjust for a moment before moving. The nicker greeted him at the same time he recognized the horse.

"Hawk?" he asked softly. The stallion snorted and tossed his head, demanding attention.

He hesitated. This was Marian's horse, her way to freedom. Did he really want to take that away from her, now, with her wings thoroughly clipped as Gisborne's wife? Yet, Hawk was the only horse in the stable, and he needed a mount. With a short sigh, Robin grabbed a saddle and quickly tacked up the stallion.

There was a faint scuffling behind him, and someone spoke in surprise. "Master Robin?"

Ian appeared out of the shadows, his face a picture of surprise, hope and puzzlement. "Master Robin," he said again. "Have you not heard? The King is to arrive in Nottingham today."

Robin could not stop the bitter reply before it crossed his lips, "And Gisborne marries Marian today."

"But what are you doing here . . ." Ian trailed off as Robin tied the last of his belongings behind the saddle. "Oh," he said softly as Robin's intentions became clear. "But why?"

"Does it matter?" Robin pulled Hawk out of the stall and towards the door. "If the King can do anything for the shire, Edward and my men will see to it. I am not staying." As Ian moved to make another argument, Robin grasped him by the arm. "If you have ever held any respect for me as Lord of Locksley or even as Robin Hood, please, just let me go, and speak of this to no one."

Ian nodded. Robin squeezed the other man's arm in thanks, and left the stable and the celebrations in Locksley as quickly as he could. Skirting the village, he soon reached the road, but did not mount; now that he was leaving, he couldn't quite bring himself to go too quickly. He hated the pain he felt, but at least it was something.

When the church bells tolled suddenly and wildly, he was amazed that despite his own black mood and the distance he managed to cover, Much's voice could heard through the cacophony. As he sprang into the saddle and drove his heels into Hawk's side, he was suddenly very glad he had left the way he did. There was much to be said for a grand entrance and swift escape.

" _Do you take this man and this horse as your way out of here?"_

" _I do!"_

Somewhere in the rush of emotions and adrenaline, Robin couldn't help but feel smug about how clever he was some days, and the fact that Marian was thinking on the same level as he was. Finally, they seemed to be going in the same direction.

At the moment, that direction was out of Locksley and towards Nottingham – together.

In the months that followed, Robin managed to keep tabs on the horses that had helped him in his many escapades, not the least of which was foiling Gisborne's marriage to Marian. Hawk found his way back to Knighton, along with Marian's marriage chest and the lady herself; Fox was still employed by the Locksley guards. When he could, Robin made sure to show his appreciation, whether by a quick pat or forehead scratch for the horses, or extra food for their caretakers – Ian at Locksley, and a young boy named Daniel that Marian had employed to help around the stables at Knighton.

"Stay sharp, lads," Robin would joke to the horses – at least when no one could hear him. "I might need your help again someday."

TBC

 


	7. Fire and Tears

  **Part 7 – “Fire and Tears” (Set during “Sisterhood”)**

 

If horses were prone to contemplating how much their lives could change in a few short hours, Hawk would have been thinking hard on the subject. As it was, he wasn’t terribly introspective about his change in life once again, though he was certainly confused and on edge about it as he inspected the unfamiliar stable.  
  
The evening had started routinely enough. Marian had saddled Hawk and gone out on her weekly rounds as the Nightwatchman. Despite Robin’s claims that the Nightwatchman wasn’t a risk she needed to take – or more likely in spite of them – Marian had started a weekly sweep of the nearby villages not long after her ruined wedding. In fact, her wound had barely been healed before the mask and cloak had been donned again and any villager that Robin and his gang might have missed was being provided for by the Nightwatchman. Hawk became an important part of the routine in the early stages of Marian’s reappearance as the Nightwatchman, as she was able to cover a large swatch of territory in a decent amount of time. The smooth and steady gaits of the stallion also helped stave off the fatigue of riding longer than if she had been on Owl. All in all, Hawk was well adjusted to this pattern and rather enjoyed it.  
  
After several hours galloping across fields, weaving through the forest’s edges and waiting near villages, Hawk was put away once again. Marian was fast but thorough in her care of him, and few would have been able to tell that the horse had been galloping about in the aid of outlawry that night. Content with a small ration of hay and a comfortable stall, Hawk relaxed, ears drooping and a hind hoof cocked up.  
  
Suddenly, there were the sounds and smells of approaching horses, and even the old cart horse, Sparrow, lifted his head and nickered a greeting. Human voices were raised in tones that the horses knew as anger and fear. There was restless and nervous shifting from the horses outside, and the uncertainty made Hawk became anxious; it quickly spread to the rest of the stable, and the horses were tense and fidgety in their stalls.   
  
With a sudden increase in the shouts and screams; the tang of a terrifying scent which hit the nostrils of the Knighton herd. A roar throbbed in the air just outside, growing ever louder and bringing more smoke and the sensation of heat with it. Hawk lunged against his stall door and squealed. Owl and Sparrow panicked, backing into the far corners of their stalls with pleading whinnies; the bay carriage horses were rearing and screaming in terror. Hawk struck at the door with a fore hoof, chipping the wood with the force; both fight and flight demanding to be followed. He desperately wanted to get out, but he also wanted to protect his small herd from the threat.  
  
The stable doors flew open with a bang and a handful of Gisborne’s guards rushed in.  
  
“Throw open the stall doors and herd them out!” one yelled.  
  
Another man, plainly more worried about Gisborne’s wrath than anything, shouted back, “No, just grab the stallion! That was the only one he wanted.”

“Get them all!” a third ordered. “The whole manor and this stable are likely to go up in flames!”   
  
He quickly tossed a rope around Owl’s neck and urged the old stallion out of the stall. After a brief hesitation, Owl snorted and lunged forward,  
galloping out of the door and down the road. The guard loosed the rope as Owl flew by and used it to give the horse an unneeded slap of encouragement on the rump.   
  
“They’ll follow the rest of the horses, and we can catch them properly later. If they don’t come right away, put your cloak over their eyes and lead them out!”  
  
Stall doors flew open, and despite any worries the guards might have had, the horses all willingly rushed out of the stable. The fire was in the opposite direction from the promise of freedom.  Once out of his stall, Hawk pushed past the guard in his way and galloped out to the road, whistling for his herd. The bay carriage horse rushed to him, nickering nervously. Sparrow, limping slightly, followed by a coughing Owl. By the  
time that the guards, both on foot and mounted, had caught up with the herd, Hawk was pacing around the other horses  
to keep them in a knotted bunch. After a brief conference, the guards decided to drive the herd down the road to Nottingham, with the riders leading the way and the foot soldiers urging the horses from the rear.   
  
The arrangement worked well for all involved. The horses were still incredibly nervous and normally would have been a handful for the guards to lead, yet they were willing enough to move away from the fire. Hawk’s desire to keep the herd together helped the guards to drive them in an almost organized fashion. After a few miles, the horses relaxed, but continued to move out at a good pace. Sparrow’s limp seemed to have eased away, but Owl continued to cough. His head hung low, and occasionally he shook his entire body, as if to drive away the  
lingering wisps of smoke from his old lungs. Hawk continued his circuit around the perimeter of the tiny herd, head and tail high, snorting indignantly at the guards.   
  
In Nottingham, Gisborne spared only enough time to order that theKnighton herd be put in the castle stables; their exact fate would be decided later. Despite the night’s terrors and the strangeness of their surroundings, the horses soon relaxed under the care of the efficient and kind Nottingham stable hands. By the time dawn colored the sky, the former herd of Knighton was asleep in their new box stalls, weary but content.  
  
If horses were in a habit of considering their futures, Hawk would have been satisfied thus far with his newest life. His herd was with him, and a familiar friend had been stabled next door. Fox was also being kept in Nottingham for the time being. Yes, if  
horses were in the habit of pondering on the strangeness of life, Hawk would have been full of thoughts. As it were, he was more concerned with eating his hay, and making sure that Fox still realized he was in charge, and that there was no way the hay would be shared.  
  
***  
  
Marian felt like bursting into tears for the second time that day. She might have put up a strong front for Robin and argued her case brilliantly, but she was still heart sick. In less than a day, her home had been burned, she and her father arrested, she thought Robin had died, and a plot to kill the king had been uncovered. And in spite of everything, she had only allowed herself a few moments of the comfort given by Robin’s sure embrace and a kiss before turning her back to the whispered freedom of the green wood and facing the cold work of a spy in the castle. Surely, even she, willful daughter of a lord, Nightwatchman, and now spy, was allowed a few moments to wallow in self pity  
and weariness after everything that had happened.  
  
Even as those thoughts formed, Marian realized that her feet had taken her back to the castle. Knowing that her father was safe, even if he was likely worried and ill informed about the commotion around the castle that was only now settling down, he would be fine without her company for a few more minutes. She crossed the courtyard and entered the stable. The quiet darkness enveloped her and worked its subtle magic on her nerves. Moving slowly down the aisle, she looked over the horses absently, hardly noticing them individually but drinking in the peace that only horses could lend her.  
  
A familiar nicker greeted her. Locating the source, Marian opened the stall door to see Hawk looking at her with pricked ears and fluttering  
nostrils. His expression was the same as if he were in Knighton, questioning but eager for a ride to escape the comfortable confines of the stable. Owl nickered at her as well, and she stopped in shock. The horses had been the last thing on her mind, but she suddenly realized that she had assumed that they had been left in the stables to face the flames.     
  
Marian finally did burst into tears for the second time that day. She slipped into the stall and pulled thedoor shut behind her before wrapping her arms around Hawk’s solid neck and burying her face in his long mane, sobbing. The simple reminder of her home had been too much, but the memory of Robin attempting to analyze the gift giving rights of the horse made her ache for the embrace of her exasperating outlaw. But Hawk also brought to mind Gisborne and the times when she thought he had feelings for her, those hopes now reduced to ash. Fingers twined in the thick black mane and the warm scent of horses filling even her tear clogged nose, Marian wondered if this was to be the pattern of the rest of her life. It would seem she was doomed to forever be caught somewhere between an arrogant outlaw and a disinherited knight, with the scent of smoke from lost dreams and hopes lingering in her nostrils.   
  
TBC

 


	8. A Feather in Her Cap

**Part 8 – “A Feather in Her Cap” (“The Booby and the Beast”)**

 

 " _Don’t leave. Help me,” Marian said._

_“Help you?” Count Fredrick demanded in disbelief._

_“You heard The Sheriff. He’s using the money to plot against the king. I have friends who would like to relieve him of his money before he distributes it. And that will have to be tonight.”_

_“This is a dangerous game.”_

_“But you are a player.”_

“And what exactly is the game?” the Count asked, crossing his arms across his chest. He didn’t actually look opposed to the idea, but was rather putting on a show once again.

Marian’s head snapped towards the door that Vaizey and Gisborne had left open in their departure. The sound of approaching guards echoed down the hall. “First, we need to get out of here.”

They managed to slip around the corner before the guards could see them, pressing into the shadowed walls and holding their breath. Chain mail chimed and swords rattled as the door shut with an echoing boom. Marian leaned against the wall for a moment, took a deep breath and looked back at the Count. He was eyeing her with equal appreciation for the view and impatience to hear the rest of her plan. She sighed. As long as he didn’t start sniffing her hair again she was willing to work with him.

“Now,” Marian said, “I need an excuse to get out of the castle. I need to get to Sherwood and let Robin and the rest know that they have to move tonight.”

“Just you?” the Count asked. “Wouldn’t that raise suspicions? And besides,” he added quickly, “I’d rather like to meet the rest of our co-conspirators. Who is this Robin?”

Marian wasn’t sure if she was pleased or annoyed by the emphasis on “our”. Even though Count Fredrick’s idiot façade had been put away, it apparently didn’t mean his attraction for Marian had been faked. “He’s the one most interested in relieving the Sheriff of his money. He’s the one you’re going to have to convince to let you be part of this plan.”

“I see,” he nodded and then added innocently, “I was honestly curious before – do you ride?”

She nodded and said, “Probably better than you.”

Count Fredick’s eyes lit up at the challenge. “Is that a bet, Lady Marian?”

“Take it as you will,” she replied coyly.

“Very well,” he declared. “We shall ride out this afternoon to meet these allies of the forest. Then you will also tell me how I will be part of this plan – whatever this plan may be, since you haven’t offered much description. But don’t worry. I will handle the excuses for the Sheriff.” He winked. “Just keep up the idea that I am pursuing you and you are playing hard to get.”

“It won’t be that hard,” Marian muttered dryly. Then she said with authority. “We’ll meet in the courtyard in an hour.”

Count Fredrick bowed. “Then we must hurry, in order to be dressed for the occasion.”

Marian suppressed a groan as she turned and hurried down the hall towards her chambers.

“Lady Marian!” the Count hissed in a very loud stage whisper. She stopped and looked at him with a lifted eyebrow as he said, “As you are a lady, I will let you choose the horses we will use. I trust that you will pick two that will both challenge and flatter us as we determine who the better rider is.”

“Very well then,” she replied, though she wasn’t terribly worried about proving any point. If she could outride Robin – as she frequently did – she could certainly outride Count Fredrick. But if it was a going to get him to work with her, it was a far less of a terrible task than the Sheriff expected her to do.

Arriving at her chambers, she shut her door with a sigh of relief. The room was empty, cool and silent. After the crowded Great Hall and the Count’s well-meaning but annoying puppy dog act, she just wanted to be alone to collect herself. After a few moments, she crossed the room to her clothes chest. She let out another sigh as she opened it and was confronted with the newest additions to her wardrobe.

As per the Sheriff’s instructions, Marian had gone out and purchased a new gown. In fact, she got two new dresses – one red and pink, the other black - and a tunic of sorts. It had taken some stiff and skilled bargaining on her part, but she had managed to get the three pieces at a reduced price because it was obvious they would have to be tailored to fit. Or at least that was the story she played into her bartering to gain some sympathy from the trader. She, Sarah and Jess – the maid and her daughter – had spent a few flurried hours fitting the dresses before the Count had arrived. Jess hadn’t actually been much help, but Sarah had given her a project to keep her out of the way and busy.

Marian moved aside the black dress and pulled out the bright red tunic. She frowned at it. Due to the way it had been made, Sarah’s tailoring had only made it plunge lower across the neck line. It had made sense at the time, due to the fact that she was supposed to be keeping the Count’s attention, but she rather regretted it now. The horse shoe shaped buttons had attracted her initially, and the solidness of the suede had made it sturdy enough to ride in; it even came with matching gloves. However, the neck it held now wasn’t the best for galloping about in, no matter how much it flattered her shape. It was all she had to work with at the time, so she picked it up. She pulled out a pair of heavy riding trousers – made to look like a skirt when she wasn’t mounted – and closed the chest.

As she changed clothes, her eyes landed on Jess’s project, where it had been left as a gift on her desk. It was tiny hat with a feather sticking out of the top. From feather tip to rim it was the same virulent shade of red as her tunic. She smirked. The thing was ridiculous, but surprisingly well made – a child’s idea constructed with determination and skill. She would never have considered wearing it, but the image of Count Fredrick’s brightly striped coat and feathered hat when he first stepped out of his carriage appeared in her mind. If his riding outfit was anything nearly as foppish, she might as well join in and look the part of the booby’s lady friend. She put on the hat and secured it with a pin.

With her hat and gloves in place, Marian left her chambers and made her way to the stables. The courtyard was quiet in the early afternoon, though the ever present guards had simply withdrawn as far into the shade as they could. The weather was warm, and in their black uniforms and mail, it was no wonder the guards would be reluctant to be out an about in the stone courtyard. The warmth was perfect for a ride, however; the coolness of the breeze and forest would balance out the sun’s heat. She hurried to the stables, not because she was worried about keeping her appointment with Count Fredrick, but because the eyes that followed her as she moved. She really began hate her new outfits.

The stables enveloped her and she felt the tension melt away, as much as it ever could these days. The horses shifted in their stalls, a few looking towards her in hope of feed or attention, other merely moving to a more comfortable position, bored but contented with their situation. She walked down the aisle, looking for her favorites. Owl was standing quietly, asleep with one hind leg cocked and his head drooping. He lifted his head as she approached and fluttered his nostrils in a near silent greeting. Marian took a moment and stroked the old gelding’s nose, but left him in the stall. As much as she loved him, she wanted something with a bit more power and spunk.

Leaving Owl to his equine dreams, Marian continued to Hawk’s stall. It was empty. She sighed, and the sound apparently caught the attention of another horse. She saw a black muzzle above the wall of the stall before she stepped around and looked in on Hawk’s neighbor. The bright bay gelding looked at her with interest, while managing to look lonely at the same time. She recognized him as Fox; Much had usually rode him before he and the other outlaws had been forced afoot. As she recalled, the horse had been a pretty good match for Hawk’s speed, though he didn’t look to have the same arrogant attitude.

“Hey you boy,” Marian murmured as she stroked the horse’s proffered muzzle. “Would you like to go out? Have any friends?”

Leaving Fox for the moment, she made another scan of the stables. There were only a few horses inside, the rest out with the guards on patrol or whatever the Sheriff had them do with their time. The nearest horse was half way down the aisle from Fox; he was a trim chestnut with a wavering stripe down his face. He tossed his head imperiously when Marian reached out to pet him.

“Well then,” she said with a chuckle. “You can come with too.”

“My lady? Can I help you?”

She turned to see one of the stable hands hovering nervously behind her. She smiled and said, “I need this horse and Fox saddled.”

“Fox?” He blinked in confusion for a moment before turning and looking at the horse in question. “Oh, yes, I guess I didn’t know he had a name.”

Marian’s smile tightened. “He had a name in Locksley.”

“As you say, milady,” the stable hand said. “I’ll fetch the saddles, if I may.”

She nodded and said, “I can help.”

The man looked a bit shocked but quickly recovered and stepped aside to let Marian led the way to the tack room. Throughout the conversation, she had noticed his eyes drifting, but wandering noticeably higher than her chest; the silly little hat was actually useful.

Before too long, Marian and the stable hand brought the horses out into the courtyard, Hawk and the newly named Saffron snorting at the change in light. Count Fredrick was nowhere to be seen yet. The figure rushing out of the door and down the broad stone steps was probably the last person Marian wanted to see. She pretended not to see the Sheriff and turned to check her girth and straighten the buckles on Hawk’s bridle.

_“What do you think you’re doing? You stay in the castle!” the Sheriff growled._

“Believe me, I’d rather stay here. I’m just doing as I’m instructed,” Marian said, annoyed.

“Lady Marian is to ride out with me!” said Count Fredrick as he emerged and skipped down the steps, pulling on a pair of riding gloves.

Marian didn’t bother listening too closely to the tale being spun. She had a pretty good idea of what the Sheriff wanted to hear, as did Count Fredrick. The fact that he was able to quickly and easily convince the Sheriff of both the need to ride out of the castle and the lack of guards shouldn’t have surprised her, given how fast he turned his “booby” act on and off, but it did. Granted the Sheriff wanted to humiliate her, so his ego and sadistic mind didn’t need much prompting.

Sharing a conspiratorial smile, Marian and Count Fredrick mounted their horses and rode out of the courtyard and into the town. The eyes of the Sheriff followed them, but Marian dismissed from her him with a toss of her head, the feather in her cap fluttering.

Both of the horses were full of energy, dancing and chomping at the bits as their riders guided them down the streets.

“You may have picked too challenging of mounts,” Count Fredrick said as Saffron snorted and skittered away from a market stall with a loud vendor.

“Are you giving up already?” Marian laughed. Fox tossed his head and tried to take off, as the gate appeared, but Marian pulled him up with a firm but gentle touch. “Easy, Fox boy.”

“Does my horse have a name?”

“Saffron.”

“Saffron?” Count Fredrick laughed in distain. “He should have a strong name, a name that means something, conveys an impression . . . like Rache.” When Marian just looked at him in confusion he sighed. “Saffron is an appropriate name, if not particularly impressive.”

Marian chuckled and let Fox stride out as they left the gate and bridge behind and the forest appeared. “Well, I think it is a good name, Count Fredrick. He’s about the color of saffron, and he’s got a bit of spice to his attitude.”

“Speaking of names, I feel that since we are co-conspirators, we might dispense with the formality of titles. We are already friends. You may call me Fredrick.”

“If we are already friends,” Marian said, rolling her eyes, “then you may drop the ‘lady’.”

“Thank you, Marian.” Count Fredrick smiled at her. “Now, are we going to discuss this mysterious plan that I am to be a part of?”

“Let’s ride first. The horses want to go, and besides, we don’t want any unfriendly ears to overhear.”

“Very well. I shall let the lady give the word to begin.”

“How very polite of you. Go!” Marian said, and urged Fox into a gallop.

Count Fredrick shouted something in his native tongue. Even as Marian turned her head to look, he had Saffron even with Fox. Marian grinned and Count Fredrick smiled back, looking all the world like an utter fool and flirt, and not the intelligent count that he was. They soon reached the forest and plunged into the shade, the hooves of their horses throwing duff and dirt into the air.

They slowed after a few minutes, the road narrowing and becoming rough, and the horses finally settling down. Count Fredrick sighed mournfully and shook his head.

“I do not know, Marian. I am not sure of which way to call this game. It is hard to judge one’s own skill – which one does not want to deface – against the skills of such a talented and lovely lady.”

“The same can be said of considering the abilities of a gentleman such as yourself,” Marian replied, teasing. He annoyed her a bit, but there was something genuine about Count Fredrick, something about his manner and personality that connected with her.

As their conversation continued, Marian realized what that connection was: he was very much like her. The same longing for a freedom that they could never really obtain, the façade put on to confuse others and mask the true person underneath. She and Robin had some of that rapport, as they both fought for England’s freedom, but Robin did not hide behind the shelter of his title and status; he had obviously thrown that away, which created a certain amount of strain. The old argument of “playing the long game” had not been brought up in a while, but it had morphed into the debate of the double agent that she had become. Marian realized that Robin would never fully understand her position in this fight against the Sheriff. However, with Count Fredrick she found a certain sense of empathy, even if she didn’t offer any explanation on it to him.

She had found a friend and compatriot in Count Fredrick, and that was an incredible gain in her eyes. It didn’t help that he had facilitated an excuse to get out of the castle for a ride - even if she had been seen in that ridiculous hat.

TBC  



End file.
